This Once
by Okobo-chan
Summary: Could he make her whole again? Maybe just this once. Good things always come at a price, but neither Viktor or Hermione expected their twice found love to be so hard won.
1. Chapter 1

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter One  
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In the aftermath, she couldn't even divine who ultimately was at fault. It had all blended together into a turbulent, boiling mess of screams and fury. It had progressed between them to that point. There was no more right and wrong. Just a jumbled, insurmountable wall of arguments about lost quidditch gloves and disconnected intimate moments.

She couldn't even remember the last time he'd said her name tenderly, instead of lacing it with spite. And it had been tender, in the beginning. In the suspended reality of it all. Harry had lain at death's door stoop insensible for near six months in a coma, leaving them to flounder in a Voldermort free world that might still cost them The-Boy-Who-Barely-Still-Lived. They'd clung together as if making love would magic him back to breathing on his own, as if Fred could be risen from the dead with kisses. They'd sobbed together, lit funeral pyres together. Then Harry woke up. And everything started again.

Ron had been picked up as a second string for the Chudley Canons. His boyhood dream come true. Harry had gone to the Auror Academy to follow in Sirius's footsteps, and Hermione had packed herself off to an apprenticeship under a healer to deal with what she'd been dealing with all along within the Order without formal training. All three had been high on life and ecstatic to see the dawning of their dreams taking fruition. Two weeks into picking up the pieces, and everything had slowly started to fall apart for the duo of the trio.

And so, Hermione Granger, healer and war hero, found herself storming out of her own office. Abandoning it midday, for all that she usually left later than closing, after flooing from a trip home for lunch. Tears streamed down her face, to complete her humiliation of having to use her own workplace as a safe haven. A receptionist sputtered as she tilted past, her startled concerns ultimately waved off with a wild hand from the distraught witch as she stumblingly continued on her way.

Rushing, covering her face with her own hair to disguise the truth, she quickly slipped into the nearest lift. It was blissfully empty. She held herself, hunching over into her lime green work robes as she punched the Apparition Deck lever, hoping no one would board between floors.

Her wish was not to come true. Shuddering and jerking, the lift careered sideways after the sixth floor to the dismay of it's single passenger to grind to a stop at six-and-five-sixths, the Machinson or 'Mangled' Ward. She sniffled and further ducked her head as a group of wizards boarded. Silence filled the void as the lift once again flew through St. Mungo's, expanded by necessity during the Dark Times of Voldemort's last uprising. Hermione blearily stared at the ceiling reflected in the mirror shine of a passengers dragon hide footwear, grip tightening on her robes as the lift jerked back into motion. Then the boot she was glazing off into shuffled.

"...Hermione?"

The voice was low, like a bass drum over the expanse of her rattled consciousness. With a soft rolling Slavic accent that suddenly and clearly matched the turned out booted toes. She'd known that voice. Oh, she'd known that voice.

"Viktor?" her voice shuddered, tongue thickened by swallowing sobs and tears through her nose. The two other men in the lift shifted uneasily, and she looked up into the familiar dark eyes that shuttered as she pushed back her long curls to examine them.

"Vik-" she breathed out suddenly, hitching on a gasp as she lost control of the tears that once again began sweeping down her face in a salty torrent. Embarrassment now at an all time peak, she gave up and bent into her palms, seeking to shelter herself behind them. The men with him began muttering softly in Bulgarian.

She could hear Viktor swallowing as he shuffled towards her. Large, roughly calloused hands shyly pulled at her own, gently guiding them away from her sodden countenance. Her hands fell to her sides, once again clutching at her healer's robe, as he let go to jerkily pull off his fingerless seekers gloves. Slowly, haltingly, he raised a single hand to brush a thumb across the crease of her lips. She flinched. A muscle in his already sharp cheek pulled. The muttering behind Viktor halted abruptly as a slew of sharp words in his native tongue escaped his taught lips.

"Vhat has happened?" His hands were on her instantaneously to steady her as she swayed, her own finding purchase in his crimson uniform as she shook her head from side to side.

"Vhat-", the lift door opened. He exhaled sharply at the unwelcome sound. Hermione couldn't help but shiver as he wrenched his arms around her, encompassing her small form with his reassuring embrace, grateful for his attempt to shield her from prying eyes. Grief poured our of her, soaking his already sweat damp jersey as he tightened his hold. There wasn't anything to be said, really.

He lead her out of the lift, shifting his hold on her to a single arm, responding in clipped, growling Bulgarian to his companions entreaties as they exited to the apparation deck. They were quickly enough forgotten, even as Hermione became more and more uncomfortably aware of the people milling about the deck. Her fingers bit into his side, and she dipped her head to let her hair hide her face once again. His own dark head swept the deck until his keen eyes caught glance of single empty visitors couch, and he couldn't help but to scowl blisteringly at a man approaching it as he lead the now quietly weeping Hermione to the chaise. The other man quickly turned and scuttled away as Viktor settled the distraught woman onto the seat and back into his arms.

Running his hands up and down her lithe arms, he softly crooned to her in Russian, Bulgarian, Ukrainian; all the the sweet words he knew. Gently sweeping her hair off her neck as her face fit to the hollow of his throat, his thoughts raced.

"Ah, mila, no more tears now." His accent garbled the English words as he bottled up his anger. "You'll tell Viktor everything, yes?"

It felt as if Hermione's whole body contracted with the force of a single sob. Viktor slammed his eyes shut, hastily muttering a Disillusionment and Muffliato Charm, cloaking them with his magic. Pulling back, he cradled her face, so very small in his large palms, and lost his breath again at the sight of her split lip and slowly darkening chin.

Viktor was the one person Hermione couldn't lie to. He was like Veratiserum personified. She could lie to herself, she could lie to the rest of the world but Viktor _always_ knew. Some girls kept a diary, others let share with their girlfriends; Hermione had Viktor. Her Pensieve via owl post. After the fiasco of the Triwizard Tournament, when they'd finally started returning on the promise of exchanging letters it had become brilliantly clear that the language barrier between them had been blinding. Far from owning the pigeonhole of "purely physical" he'd been re-categorized in her brain as "linguistically bogged". His letters were eloquent and painstakingly grammatical, and in later years his lagging spoken English had haltingly caught up to his written capability, much to his frustration.

"Who has done this." His flat, ominous tone would brook no further argument or bush beating. And Hermione, wrapped up in his protection and strength that she'd so missed had not the heart to fight back the name that flowed forth so easily.

"Ron." She'd slipped her face back against his shirt, unable to look at his expression for this particular tale. Her self-disgust was almost palpable.

"Veasley? I thought maybe a patient, or.." he trailed off, vision tightening as he dampened his rage to focus on her hurt and his fixing it, "How. Vhy."

"I went home for lunch early." She'd begun to wind down, listening to his heartbeat. "We... argued."

"Yes?" he was trying so hard no to be impatient. So very hard.

"I called him some names. We were both upset."

"And he beat you," the tamped growl rumbled in his chest as she shook her head into his robes. "But that is not whole truth."

"There was a woman in our bed." The fingers wrapped around her tightened their vice like hold. "Lavender Brown, an old schoolmate. At first I thought he was upset that I was home early, and I was... then I found her in the bedroom. But," she choked, "it was like he was more upset that he'd gotten caught than what he was doing. No remorse. I couldn't stand it. _I can't stand it anymore_. Viktor, oh god! How could he?"

"Tell me. Is okay, just... _tell me everything._"

"Lavender flooed out. I think I threw something at him. At her. I don't know. And his face, oh god, _his face_," Ron's expression had twisted into something the like of which she had never seen before in his nature. As if something inside of him was trying to escape the confines of his rage. The words were tumbling out now, flowing like water from a dam, and she couldn't stop herself. "He threw me up against the wall. I think he might have banged me around a bit to get there, I don't remember, but I'd dropped my wand. Then he started... hitting me. Really, having a go at me as well as he could. I can't do this anymore. I managed to shake him off and flooed to my office. I can't _do_ this." There was appalled amazement in her words.

"Mila, mila tell me this is first time," his voice shook, "please tell me only this one time."

Hermione's sobs were devastating in the silence, and she trembled from the adrenaline of it all, reliving the events even as she spoke of them. Past arguments, every painful memory flitting through her mind. "He's never raised a hand to me before. He's pushed me during some arguments. But I've done that too. I've smacked him when he's flirted with other women, and-"

"You are vitch, Hermione, it doesn't make it vright," he hissed, cutting her off.

"I know that! I know! What's _wrong_ with me?" The excuses she'd made herself believe, so many times before. A slow hysteria was seeping into the conversation. Hermione gasped for breath, and Viktor's chest was heaving with pent up emotion.

"Is this vhy you stop vriting? You vere afraid?" Viktor cursed himself hollowly, for making any of it about himself. But her silence had _hurt_. Not that it mattered, now. His eyes throbbed as he pushed her sleeves up to trace snaking lines of angry red marks and mottled purpling bruises. He hoped to God that this was the worst of it.

"No. Yes. No, I mean, he was jealous and I wanted him to be happy. He always got upset when he saw your letters. I wasn't afraid of, well, this." Her eyes were shut, not wanting to see her own shame. "I didn't want to stop writing. I missed our letters. So much."

His only concession to the angry, bitter tears that itched in the back of his throat was a ragged exhale. This woman. The woman he'd loved from his childhood. His sweet, studious, gold hearted woman had survived a war. The murder of her parents. The deathbed of her best friend. For _this_? His heart was shattering in his chest. He desperately wanted to leave her in safe quarter so he could hunt Weasley down and show him what had made_ him_ a name in the war. Then leave him to drown a pool of his own bodily fluids.

"Ve go to ministry. You vill talk to the aurors. You vill make a report. Then ve talk to Potter."

"But Viktor, I can't-"

"NO, Hermione," he panted, "you vill do this. He vill not go unpunished. If ministry does noffing, _I vill take care of it._" His eyes burned like coal. "I _**promise**_." He held her gaze steadily, and raised her hand to his lips in a salute, pulling it to rest on his chest. "You vill not see him again. You vill not talk to him again. I vill collect your things for you. His family vill think no less of you. They vill understand.

"Never again, mila. _Never. __Again_."

And then something snapped inside Hermione. Like she'd magicked the air clear and suddenly she could breath. The sounds of people stepping around them, the bustling background noise began to filter in. She took a deep, calming breath. And then another. Like helium filling up an already heavy balloon. Her hysteria subsided, and she sniffled a bit before trying to reason out his plan of action.

"Harry's on honeymoon with Ginny."

Viktor bit back a crooked grin, "Then ve owl. For your protection, he must know."

"But, I don't have anywhere to stay," her brain felt like mush. "I can't stay with Arthur and Molly, I don't even know if I can bring myself to talk to them about this."

"You vill stay vith me. I have house vith lots room, no problem. Ve send owl to Veasley's parents too, if ve must." He cursed English, and his heavy tongue. The language that reduced him to a dullard at every inopportune, nerve wracking moment.

"Viktor, I can't let you do all this for me."

"Vhy not? No. Please, Hermione. Let me do this vone thing for you. Let me help you. Please." He would get down on his knees and beg next. She was the only one who could get him to do what Deatheaters and Voldermort's hellfire couldn't accomplish over all those years.

"I don't deserve this. Not from you." The dratted tears had nearly started again. Hermione felt like a leaky faucet. Viktor would probably need to be towel dried down his front when she was done with him. A small, shaky hand traced a dark lock of hair to a nose that had been broken more than a few times, gently rubbing the bridge where she knew his tension headaches began before she quickly pulled back her hands. This felt like acceptance. This felt like relief.

"Of all people, loff, you deserffe the vorld." He cradled her further into his arms once again and apparated them away.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: For re-readers, this has been touched up (as many things in this story have been over the now full year of my working on this story). Forgive my brush strokes? Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

Title: This Once

Pairing: Viktor/Hermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Two**

Viktor felt sapped. As if the last three hours had sucked the last of hidden reserves. It had, in actuality, taken most of his legendary concentration to focus on his efforts to not throttle the young auror who had interrogated Hermione. For all the man's good intentions and the free will of the involved, it had indeed felt like more of an interrogation than anything else. Hearing the brutally detailed truth slipping from her lips onto the man's eagerly written report had him digging bloody crescents into his own skin as he fought with his rage shaken fingers.

Hermione had insisted on having her statement taken under potion, so they'd had to sit in a cramped spare holding cell until the last of the truth serum had worn off before leaving the M.O.M. Viktor had procured a quill and parchment in advance, and he'd done his best to not ask her any questions as they'd penned out the requisite letters to her erstwhile magical family, whiling the minutes away on a rickety table that threatened to collapse under the weight of one ink pot in near darkness. It had not brought back fond memories for either of the confined.

Another auror much more to Hermione's liking, Tocopher St. John, was provided as an escort as they flooed to Hermione's shared flat so she could retrieve belongings. St. John, an Order member and veteran of both Moody tactics and the war, shouldered with Viktor to clear the flats three small rooms at wandpoint. They were, thankfully, empty.

It looked as if a small hurricane had made landfall directly inside the rooms. Pictures were torn from the walls, chairs upended; all bore the hallmark signs of an uncontrolled magical outburst. Hermione quietly pulled some of the unharmed prints from their frames, gathering scattered clothing into a trunk pulled out from under a curio cabinet. The bedroom seemed to be the epicenter, with its ripped mattress and shredded bed clothes; St. John had to hover the doors to a heavy looking armoire that had been ripped off their hinges so that Hermione could liberate a scant few dress robes from its clutches. Books were charmed into a low cupboard. Sifting through the rubbish, she plucked one group photo out of it's pristine frame and felt done. She shrunk everything, depositing her few belongings into a small beaded handbag.

After a few quick words with Auror St. John about any further proceedings, Viktor once again wrapped his arm firmly around Hermione and apparated them away from the ruined quarters.

* * *

><p>"Where are we?"<p>

They'd appeared on a dimly lit, rambling cobblestone walkway that lead up to an immense, whitewashed Slavic stone cottage. Its immediate sloping tiled roof was rustic and traditional looking, but the latticed shutters, onion domes and green tented brick chimneys spoke of a long and checkered architectural history. Shaded by several strong old willows, it was both cozy as well as formidable looking in its splendor.

"A leetle outside of Dobrich, near Black Sea. This is 'Chinik Kushtichka', means 'Teapot Cottage'. I inherit it after my mother's uncle."

He led her, hand at the small of her back, across the courtyard and past the thick wooden threshold. Like so many wizarding households, the outside appearance concealed deceptive charms against the vast expanse within. She was treated to an enormous great room, complete with an already blazing hearth nearly the full breadth of the Weasley kitchen table to heat the fall air.

A flick of his wand banished their outer robes, and he quickly drew them both down into a large plush leather couch, drawing a thickly knitted throw around her as she shivered. Viktor snapped something in Bulgarian, and a house elf appeared at his side, clothed in what looked to be a child's golden snitch nighty and a floral pinafore. It's enormously large eyes blinked up at Hermione in confusion.

"Padushka, this is Miss Granger. Vould you please fetch me some hot chocolate? And for Hermione," he turned to her, expectantly.

"Hot chocolate would be fine for me too, thank you Padushka."

"Mees Granger?!" The elf's hands flew across her pinafore, straightening it as she lurched herself to full attention. Viktor's face flooded with color. "Padushka iz happy to serve young mees, yes Padushka iz." The nearly giddy elf blinked away. Hermione bit back a titter.

"Padushka collects my mail vhen I'm avay."

Face still flush, Viktor's hands fiddled with the blanket between them, pulling it over his shins. Wood snapped and crackled in the grate, and Hermione stared into the high arches of the candelabra lit ceiling.

"Why were you at St. Mungo's?" She'd never gotten a chance to ask, nearly forgotten about that circumstance entirely. "Are you alright?" She felt shame edging into her cozy, slightly sleepy brain.

"Ne. No! No, vas Kuzminski, the beater. Ve played game against the Harpies. A bludger snap his broom in haff. Broke both legs in fall. Ve visit, bring idiot something to drink and celebrate vin."

"Viktor Dimitrinov Krum! You of all people should know that vodka and healing do not mix! Especially Skelegrow."

He smirked in classic Krum form, a slight tilting of his lips, his severe face twisting pleasantly at her scolding. He fell back heavily against the cushions with a breath of laughter, threading his fingers through her hand.

"Mila, ve got him drunk _because_ of the Skelegrow. And beleif me, I vould know."

Hermione's baleful look only increased his humors. She sighed, leaning against his shoulder as his thumb made gentle circuits around her palm. He inhaled softly, catching the scent of her shampoo and perfume, lips brushing tantalizingly against her soft curls. An easy silence settled between them, drowsily.

"I don't know what happened to us," she murmured softly, unable to stop her meandering thoughts.

"Vhat do you mean, loff?" He stared down at her, face closed.

"Ron and me. I mean, we'd always argued as friends, but I thought all the pettiness had died when we started dating." She paused. He let her, knowing it wasn't going to be a questioning kind of conversation.

"We didn't argue for a full week. But I guess we just didn't talk much, really. It felt like he'd finally grown up. That he'd put me first. The jealousy, the ego wasn't there. Just us."

Regardless, it physically hurt to hear her reminiscing about Weasley as a lover. He'd been content to stand aside for her happiness because of his distance, but hearing about it from her own lips was something else entirely.

"Everything with him was like that in the end, two steps forward to three giant leaps backwards."

Viktor bussed a kiss against her brow, pulling her into his lap. Hermione leaned back, twinning her arms into his.

"I just got so sick of his ambition. With quidditch, and even Harry and the Aurory. He was always worried about what people were saying, thinking, who I was talking to at work, 'our image'; that kind of thing.

Ginny was the only person I really talked to about any of it, and I couldn't really tell her about the bad arguments. She's his sister, for God-sake. And Harry would never get in the middle of our arguments. Even when we were at school."

She shifted, tugging his arms around her.

"I needed to talk to you, Vitya, but I was so afraid that..," she sniffed, "oh Viktor I'm so stupid."

They both startled as a tray suddenly appeared before them, cups of chocolate steaming next to a silver service complete with biscuits and brownies.

"You are _not_ stupid." Viktor's thick brows furrowed, "I don't think possible. But is possible that you are skinny britches vith need for more food than elf send. Eat, mila."

Hermione huffed tiredly, and then tucked in as Viktor plied her with biscuit after biscuit. She remembered being pleasantly warm, resting her eyes as he softly teased her about fattening her up as she threatened to smother him with fan mail, then the world drifted away from her entirely.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Three**

Hermione jerked awake, smacking at the dryness clinging to her tongue. Her eyes felt swollen and heavy, the likes of which she hadn't experienced since The Viewing. She could picture rows of pine caskets in her head separated by allegiance, hastily marked in ink with a name or a description of clothing if the occupant was mauled beyond recognition. The grieving wails of family members there to collect their dead echoed off the stone walls and the order members who guarded the makeshift morgue were not discriminatory to Light or Dark in their attempts to reunite individuals to their lost loved ones.

She shook herself from the memories, taking in the soft feather mattress beneath her. Misty blue bed curtains around her gave way to ornately paneled walls interspersed with gilded icons of saints, though she knew not which. Sliding from her soft perch, she moved to peer out of a lead paneled window into a sea of tall grass that waved beyond archaic looking stone walled gardens.

"View to your liking?"

She whirled towards his voice, wand drawn.

"Viktor! You scared me half to death, idiot man."

He stood half bathed in light by the door, a small wooden box in his hand.

"I feel like Mary Lennox."

He found himself desperately wishing he could be her Dickon Sowerby, even if wearing Colin Craven's skin was a more apt fit.

Shuffling his booted feet, he crooked the box into his arm, padding across the room to draw her back to the bed.

"Sit." Hermione shot him a look that could have stripped the room had it been painted. "Please sit?"

She sat. "Raja."

Viktor bit back a grin, setting down the now open kit to edge himself in beside her. The expression quickly vanished as he pulled out a tin, thick fingers tilting her face towards his. He cursed softly, surveying the large black contusion webbed by purple and green. Pressing his forefingers into the medicated balm, he moved to gently spread it over her tender skin. His hand faltered at her wince as his fingertips circled her lower lip.

"I should haff done this yesterday."

He took a deep breath, face stony as he moved to slather more of the fragrant minty substance onto her forearms, pushing up the sleeves of the voluminous chemise he'd transfigured for her the night before.

"I'm the healer."

Viktor's terse movement as he repacked his kit was her only response. Drawing his wand from it's holster, he ghosted the tip over her wounds, quietly murmuring charms as he went. Hermione felt her skin warm and begin to tingle, soothed as his magic settled into her bones.

"Anyvhere else?"

She shook her head at his clipped inquiry.

"Viktor, none of this is your fault. I'm not going to allow you to beat yourself up over something you had nothing to do with."

His brain shouted that he did, in bold snippets of how and why. He felt like screaming, breaking things.

"I'm not a flinching maiden. I should have been able to see what was happening."

"Ron fought in var too. Besides, he vas not enemy on a battlefield, or new boyfriend vithout history. Vhy vould you look for such things," he ground out, vanishing the mess from his hands then stowing his wand.

"Then how on earth do you manage to blame yourself for not protecting me?"

The burning in his chest felt like someone had punched him with steel gauntlets. She couldn't know that he'd warded her office door one visit to let him know that she'd made it to work each morning. Or understand how so many of his night terrors during the war had featured her cold, ravaged body staring up at him with unseeing milky eyes. He'd woken, screaming and thrashing like he'd the devil in him one night, only to find out that she'd been tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange under the same moon. His grandmother's hellish gift taunting him in retrospect.

He fell back on the bed, running his fingers over it's thick coverlet, letting his shame and guilt leech further into his soul. His boots scraped against the hardwood as he rolled his heels.

"I should be comforting you, not other vay around."

Wind pushed against the windows, rattling in their frames as the house shifted. Hermione scooted her body back on the bed up to the plump pillows against its headboard, settling her hem around her knees. Viktor rolled, propping himself up on an arm to stare at a waist length mahogany colored curl that winked at him in the sunlight.

"What time is it?"

"Ten or eleffen, I think." Viktor clasped her soles, rubbing warmth into her icy skin. She always complained of cold toes. He took a moment to wonder at the size of his palm as it engulfed her small foot.

Hermione sighed with gusto. "I need to owl work. I have today off, but I forgot to take some files with me that I need to work on." She picked at the one of the curtains. "Then I need to get a hold of my landlord and find out about getting out of my lease agreement." Mentally calculating the to-do list of breaking up was making her head explode.

"St. John owled today vith letter from supervisor at St. Mungo's. You take veek off, how vas put? Ah, 'Vhether she likes it or no', I belief." Hermione sputtered at the wry taunt in his words. "And flat is taken care of."

"What do you mean, 'Flat is taken care of', how on earth could it possibly be taken care of? I'm pretty sure I had to sign that particular contract in blood while using my first born child as a security deposit. My landlord's an arse." Her brain promptly leapt back onto it's rails. "Viktor. What did you do? _Viktor what did you do you great goon._" She took in his rumpled brown tunic and blood shot eyes with a jaundiced glare.

He shrugged his massive shoulders, unaffected, as he continued to knead her foot. "Taken care of."

"Did you sleep at all last night?"

Viktor ran a playful digit across her arch, sitting up as she squealed.

"Breakfast for my too skinny vitch now." Hermione kicked him. "Maika vould haff entire cow if she saw that vaist."

"Dammit Viktor, I'm not emaciated just because I can't eat like a pre-teen boy, quit picking at me. And I'm not doing anything at all until I get a bath."

She hopped off the bed, stomping over to a delicate looking vanity where her purple satchel lay propped up. Reaching inside, she drug out her shrunken trunk, enlarging it to rest at the foot of the bed. She fished around inside it a little before producing robes that appeared to be mostly wearable. Viktor coughed, turning his face to the window as she blushingly picked through a pile of undergarments to find an appropriate set.

"Erm, where's the bathroom?"

Viktor walked over to a paneled door that was nearly indistinguishable from the matched wall, pushing it open to reveal a black and white tiled oasis. Hermione suddenly and regrettably remembered that she hadn't combed through her own bathroom at the flat.

"Shit."

"Vhat, vhat is it." His entire body snapped taut, like a bowstring.

"I didn't grab any of my toiletries. My hair is going to be a bloody nightmare."

Viktor twitched, turning to stalk out the bedroom, pausing to pick up his med kit.

"I come get you in haff hour."

"You do that, Mr. Smart-arse."

"I said noffing! Vhat you mean-"

She slammed the bathroom door shut.

"Mamka mu," he cursed.

"I know what that means!"

He kicked the doorjamb.

* * *

><p>* "Mamka mu" means "His mother", with the implied vulgarity that you'd expect. Now you know a curse word in Bulgarski =) Appropriate translation from the wonderful Ziminar, who was extremely kind a to edit my Bulgarian to be more authentic.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Four**

Viktor hesitated, drawing his hand back from the door frame to lean an ear against the shut wood. Silence. He knocked once, pushing his way into the room with a hip at her call to enter.

Hermione sat at the vanity, dark wet hair tumbling around her towel covered shoulders. She turned despite the mirror to eye the hair comb he was waving with resignation, then ducked her head to stare at her folded hands and faded purple robe, barely acknowledging him as he set down the comb and pomade. Nimble fingers drew her hair over the chair she sat in, nudging her forward when she hissed at the curls trapped between her body and the wooden chair. He stared at her tensed shoulders, rubbing the hair treatment to warm on his fingers. It felt like her entire body curled in on itself as he started to drag his fingers down the curls springing from her nape.

Working the mess slowly into her hair, he gentled his movements to a slow drag of fingertips against scalp, watching her lips as they pinched despite her shoulders slow unwinding. Pulling his fingers through her hair from the bottom upwards, he moved to drag a wide toothed comb through her soft, now silky, hair.

The mirror, uncharmed, reflected her burning gaze as her eyes drilled into his own. Hands clenched, she turned her head into his palm.

"I'm just so angry." Her voice shook, and Viktor dropped the comb on the vanity to wind his arms around her, leaning into the chair back.

"I'm angry at myself, angry at him. I'm even angry at you."

"Vhy angry at me, sartse moe?"

Viktor buried his nose in her curls, eyes shuttered.

"Because you saw me like that." Her voice was barely audible despite his nearness.

"It doesn't matter. Neffer haf mattered as long as you vere safe. Vere you go if I vas not at hospital? I'm glad for it."

Hermione's chin dipped. "I know, it's just... I hate that anyone saw me like that." Especially you, was unspoken in her mind. She felt tarnished, weak. She'd never wanted to feel like that again. It had been too painful to think about, to admit to herself that things had gone so very wrong, let alone admit to this man of all people the truth of the matter.

"If I vas not there, vould you go back to him?" Dark thoughts that lurked deep in his heart began to tumble out of his emotional strongbox.

Hermione faltered. "I don't know."

Viktor's embrace tightened, crushing her back against the chair slats.

"Vhy." His voice was hard, though his hands gentled their grip on her robed shoulders at her gasp.

Hermione shook her head helplessly.

"Tell me vhy." Knuckles white, he bit back the vitriol, hurt and anguish that leached into his dry mouth.

"I don't know Viktor." Her voice was raised, body straining against his arms to clutch at the vanity hard top. "Because I wanted it to work! I wanted him to _look_ at me for once, to just _see _me and he couldn't! Because I chose him and-" Hermione choked at the damning words that she knew would hurt him. She'd never wanted to hurt him.

"I'm just so angry at him, Viktor."

He closed his eyes at the sight of her grinding her fists into her eyes sockets locking his own anger into the ever deepening chest at the back of his mind. Opening them again to yank her hands away from her face, he pulled her back to him.

"Vant scream it out? I help."

Hermione laughed wetly, batting at the arms that reached to flutter at her sides. She was exhausted of crying, tired of feeling like she was slowly unraveling his good nature. There was no need of screaming her anger out; too many nights of muffling her rage into a pillow, Ron missing at a Pub, had proven that avenue of little help.

"Do you think.. I think less of you?" His fingers moved to pull her hair back from her brow in the beginning of a French braid. "Neffer think that."

Hermione's eyes shut for a moment. "I don't deserve you," she murmured.

He paused. "You keep saying this," he tugged on a curl that was trying to escape, "Not true."

He stared at his hands, fingers twisted into the thick partitions of hair and wondered if he'd ever feel clean again. His hope tasted like ash against his teeth.

"Better. Desereff only better."

He twisted and wove the last of her curls quickly, and kissed his fingers before unpocketing a length of white silk to knot at the end of her braid.

Before she could gather her thoughts enough to even broach the gap, he strode from the room leaving her to scramble after him as he darted down the hallway.

* * *

><p>Viktor brought them to a corner room furnished with horrifying rococo gilded trim, and set upon ransacking an armoire to unearth an ancient looking wool cloak and an equally antique looking tall boy yielded several shawls. He'd tut-tutted about her wet hair, framing her face with a rich white kerchief trimmed with red paisley and fringe that was probably older than the pair of them put together. He began to drape her borrowed cloak with another shawl.<p>

"It's not Siberian winter, right? You don't need to turn me into a mummy."

"You know you get cold." He grinned, pulling a black pattered shawl over her shoulders with a practiced twirl. "Look like village girl."

"I feel like a babushka."

"Is vindy, don't vant you to catch cold." He knew she wouldn't use a drying charm, it made her curls frizz. Besides, she was adorable all bundled up. Catching the folds of her wraps together with a thick silver pin, he reached for her hand to crook into his arm, drawing her back into the long corridor.

A quick word in Bulgarian had a tapestry drawing itself back with a cord, revealing a narrow corridor leading to an wrought iron spiral staircase. Hermione's pulse quickened. Despite her many years in the wizarding world, she'd never quite gotten used to the thrill of hidden passageways.

"Shortcut," muttered Viktor, ushering her down the darkened stairwell lit only by his wandtip. Hermione could taste fresh air, deducing that they were headed outdoors. Her inquisitiveness got the better of her.

"Where are we going? "

"A garden, in south of my grounds."

The staircase ended, and Viktor's wand skittered in an unfamiliar pattern against the air. He chanted, voice strong and clear, then drew their conjoined hands to rest against something mid air that was tangible but patently not visibly there. It suddenly gave way as he stopped speaking, and Viktor drew her forward into sunlight. She felt a plume of her own magic well within her, then dissipate.

She blinked, turning to run her hands against the solid fieldstone wall behind her. Quirking an eyebrow up at Viktor as his impassive expression melted with embarrassing speed, her hands met her hips.

He stuttered, "Var- _Wards_," carefully sounded out as he ground his teeth in frustration, "I've changed the wards." Among the numerous protective enchantments woven around the property, the ones barring his threshold were the most complex, and consequently hazily legal, in spellwork. His house protections, passed down through many generations of landowners, were arcane by even Durmstrang standards.

"That was no ordinary ward."

Viktor shrugged, revealing little. Digging into a pocket on his black outer robes, he produced a half corroded key the size of his palm. Swinging it on its tasseled cord in front of her, he pointed to a pathway worn into the wild grass.

"Magic is magic, Miss Mary."

* * *

><p>The path had been winding, giving her glimpses of stone archways only to block her view with clutches of oak and pine trees. Then suddenly their destination loomed into view. The walls were high enough to brush the tops of the surrounding and enclosed trees, and patches of its stony breadth were browned with yellow and red ivy marked by falls kiss. Stepping past a tile roofed inlet into a covered corridor, Viktor led her to a stunning life-size mosaic.<p>

Nestled into the wall where there should have been an entryway was a knight. Visor down, he knelt on the bank of a pool of blood, offering his sword with both hands to the viewer. He'd startled surreptitiously at their approach, pottery pieces glinting as he'd shifted to full attention, fumbling with his weapon. A three headed dragon, dead, lay behind him as well as a horse that pawed at the bloody ground in improperly scaled medieval glory.

Viktor handed her the key, and the knight's helm tilted a little. Hermione could no longer help herself. She reached out and stroked his bracers, marveling as the pieces of wall shifted under her fingers as the warrior dropped his sword. Viktor huffed as the mosaic scrambled to reclaim his weapon, adjusting his tabard on the way.

"Place the key to his hilt."

Hemione's eyes were alight as she turned to him. "Who is he?"

"Dobrynya Nikitich. Vone of the bogatyr."

"A boggart?

"No, how you say, knight who vanders? Like Gawain or Lancelot. He fight Zmey Gorynych," he pointed to the dragon, "and rescues Czarina Zabaza."

"Then he marries her, I'd guess."

Viktor looked at her for a long second before replying. "Ne, he's not a Czar, so he giff her to a friend who is Czar to marry. He marries Nastasia, a polyanitsa. Varrior voman who suits him better."

Nikitich thumped his mail covered chest, grasping his sword by the blade as he tilted it's hilt entreatingly. Hermione hesitated, then reached out towards him and as the key neared the wall the entire scene shuddered and then fell away piece by piece with her quick tap against his sword. She hastily stepped through the opening it revealed, gaping at the neatly manicured garden within. Roses bloomed out of season in ornate stone urns, squared boxwood hedges lined gravel walkways and a magnificent old willow bloomed and whispered against the stiff breeze. Hermione shivered, casting a quick warming spell against the chill.

"Come."

Viktor tucked her hand back to his elbow, leading her towards a tiny Victorian looking glass and brick chalet. Inside, among a clutter of potted ferns and herbalogic diagrams lay an immense spread of food on a plush looking oriental rug. Several comfortable looking cushions and a mound of pillows were laid out to complete the indoor picnic. Drinking in the packed bookshelves that lined several walls and various gardening bric-brac, she relented to her growling stomach as she plopped down next to Viktor to begin crowding a plate with Buglarian favorites meshana and sirenka as well as her favorite English dishes. Viktor must have filled Padushka in on her comfort foods.

Hermione groaned. "This is amazing."

"Food or garden?" he teased, helping himself to another plate after having demolished his first in minutes.

"Both. Thank you. Actually, thank Padushka instead. I needed this."

Hermione set down the plate on an empty food tray, leaning back to recline against an enormous red pillow. Light filtered in through the glass skylights and she let the sun warm her face, shawl pooled around her neck. Viktor's eyes were hooded as he leaned back against his own perch, sleepily full from lack of rest.

"Do you have practice this week at all?"

"Da, day after tomorrow."

"No rest for the wicked, I suppose."

Viktor gently kicked her outstretched foot with his own, rubbing his eyes tiredly as they settled into a companionable silence. He hadn't been to the South Gardens in months. It felt nostalgic.

He'd written many letters here, hidden away from his sisters prying hands and his parents watchful gaze. He'd spent hours battering away at his Bulgarian-English dictionary, occasionally strolling out to smell the flowers and gather his thoughts to put to page. And when later days grew long and dark, he'd vented and raged in charmed silence here. His eyes were growing heavy, drowsier by the second.

The rustle of clothing had him blinking out of a pleasant haze, peering up at her with a cracked eyelid as she brushed his bangs back from his forehead. He let a ghost of a smile cross his lips, eyes fluttering shut with a heavy breath.

"Do you want to take a nap? I'll wake you up in a little bit if you'd like. You look like death warmed over."

"Ne, I von't sleep tonight if I do."

He captured one of her hands before she could draw back, saluting her open palm. Hermione settled back down into her spot after picking up a raspberry tart to nibble on, watching his robes pull taut against his spine as he stood to stretch, stamping his booted feet awake while yawning.

Wiping her hands clean with a cloth napkin, she surveyed the jumbled rows of nearby titles, finding them mostly in Cyrillic. Fingering her fringed shawl, sneaking a look back at his form as he twisted his sore muscles, she could only begin to admit to herself that looking at him turned her into a wooly-headed teenager. And she wasn't exactly certain she was ready to be quite that stupid again. For now.

* * *

><p><strong>Translations<strong>: _Sartse moe_ - my heart. Once again, this Bulgarian translation was provided by the extremely kind Ziminar.

**Authors Note:** Firstly, I want to thank everyone for the wonderful reviews! I really appreciate your kind words. I'm currently operating without a beta, so, I do appreciate any and all help as well. I had several reviews that mentioned wanting to see longer chapters, so I've tried to double the length of this particular chapter compared to the last. I'm also not Russian or Bulgarian, so if any insightful readers could please let me know if I'm making any glaring cultural gaffs it would be much appreciated. My resources are limited to my own research and having spent several summers working with girls from Russia and Kazakhstan.

Also, the legend of Dobrynya Nikitich is a real Russian folktale! He's one of the three most popular Russian bogatyrs of old; they're pretty interesting guys.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Five**

They were strolling through the gardens again when Padushka popped up, tray in hand, offering it forward to Hermione. She took the pro-offered parchment, eying it warily as the house elf disapparated away. She sighed, dragging her feet.

"Can we go back inside for now? I rather not spoil the view."

"Who from?"

"Harry."

* * *

><p>He'd steered them back to the Great Room, settling her down on the couch before moving to stoke the fire into a blaze. A flick of his wand had a tray popping up, laden with milk tea and hot chocolate. Viktor busied himself with the tea service, settling in as Hermione cracked into the wax seal and scanned the letters contents. Features pinched as she shuffled through multiple pages, she flopped back heavily on the cushions with a groan as she tossed the parchment aside.<p>

Viktor sipped his tea, gesturing towards the service.

"Chocolate please, with cream."

Settling his own cup aside, he applied his restless hands to making her cup, waiting for her to speak. She began as he settled the cup in her hand.

"He's pissed. At Ron, that is."

Viktor's lip curled; she tossed the parchment at him, snarling. He snickered, picking it back up to set on the table.

"Molly had a fit, flooed them in tears when he was arrested. Thought it was wrong of me to take it to the Aurors, that it should have been settled in house." She fiddled with her glass.

"To be honest, I kind of agree with her. I feel like I'm torpedoing his future. Probably how the press will play it off too, silly promiscuous Granger ruins up-and-coming Rookie, the Golden Trio's brain runs off with Bulgarian Bon Bon." Rita Skeeter had spoiled her for any press coverage, let alone the unflattering kind. Ron had been a press darling, and she'd hated every minute of it. Having her picture plastered across the front-page had never flattered her sensibilities.

He inwardly seethed, cup rattling gently on its saucer as his hands clenched.

"Ginny wants to skin him alive. George broke into the apartment and roughed him up before the Aurors got to him. Shattered a cheek bone and broke his arm in two places."

Viktor sent a strong prayer of thanks to the now solo twin, who had admitted to loving Hermione years ago when he'd cornered him at his older brother's wedding. He'd covertly helped Viktor keep her safe countless times over the years. The death of his brother had only served to make him more violent when it came to bodily defending the witch, or anyone else he held close to heart. He liked George, and his brother Charlie. It was one of the many reasons he'd thought her safe, while he had little trust in Ron she had several knights errant in the Weasley clan to watch over her happiness. The other wizard must have been infuriated to have let her down.

None of them had considered her innate ability to conceal her own unhappiness from prying eyes. The war and the media had apparently turned her into an A-list actress. If only he'd managed to keep her writing, or if he'd visited her against her wishes, then maybe he'd have known sooner. Viktor snapped back to the present at the sound of her voice.

"I feel like I'm tearing their family apart." She sounded so guilty, so hurt, and all he could do was see red.

"It vould not be your fault, mila. Vhy do you keep blaming yourself for his actions?"

"But it was my choice to take legal action. He's been my friend for half my life, Viktor, I can't help it if I'm wondering if I made the right decision. It's going to drag his name through the mud." And, by extension, the rest of his family was the logical conclusion. The last thing the Weasley's needed was another Percy.

Viktor set his cup down before he broke the saucer in his grip. Though he understood her reasoning, it was both humbling and galling that this woman of all people was reticent in pursuing her basic legal rights. Even in their world, for all the progress witches had made, it was still something to be swept under the rug. Infuriating.

"Harry also wrote to say that he's worried spell damage might have something to do with it."

The taint of dark magic wasn't something easily washed off. All of them had dealt with it at some point in time. Anyone who had fought or had gotten caught up into the struggle between light and dark had been left with the aftermath of losing a portion of their soul. It ate away at a person, digging and pulling at the tear rented into ones spirit. Insidious and inevitable parting gifts of magical war.

"Spell damage doesn't make you slap around vomen, Hermione." His words were clipped, incensed.

"Viktor!"

"Effen if it vas, he's fucking idiot for not getting treated. Don't let them make excuses for him."

The seed of doubt had been planted though, he could see it in the slow fear lurking in her eyes. If it had been pure viciousness that was one thing, but lingering dark magic was another. What if it was an untreated spell, or spell damage? Viktor had had his own battles with darkness, and knew that if that was the case then Ron was still ultimately at fault for refusing to seek treatment. But what kind of consolation would that be when Hermione forgave the bastard thinking it wasn't his fault?

Hermione's mind drifted back to their trials while hunting down the horcruxes. Dark magic twisted a person, but it also often revealed the shadowy areas of the afflicted individual's unconscious desires. But unconscious desires weren't necessarily a person's true nature or feelings. Any way the situation was turned, things were still ugly from all angles.

"I wish I could close my eyes and wake up to all of this being a really terrible dream."

His eyes fell on the lingering bloom of bruises pattered on her lithe wrist, and tasted iron at the truth that he was ultimately happy with the turn of events. She was safe in his home. He had his chance to win her, yet again. And what if he'd never found out? Would she have lived, unhappy, with her chosen partner? Would he have buried her, finding out his abuses too late? His stomach churned, tea turning into an acidic knot that crawled up his throat, choking him. It tasted like murder.

* * *

><p>Viktor had excused himself, begging off to a side washroom to collect his battered dignity. He knelt, head in the sink, letting the blissfully cold water trickle through his hair and down his face until he felt human again. Turning off the faucet and grabbing a towel, he sat back against the cool tile wall to think.<p>

Every nerve in his body screamed at him to spirit her away and never look back. Take her deep into the Balkans, somewhere the press and her friends couldn't find her, career be damned. He'd done it once before, the second time around wouldn't be nearly as difficult. They were some of the happiest memories in his remembrance. The kind of memories that fueled his patronus, times before the world had exploded around them.

He closed his eyes and fought to remember what she tasted like. How it had felt to worship her skin with his lips. How in the heat of her first Bulgarian summer his simple caresses had turned complex as he'd taken her on his cloak under the shelter of a venerable old oak and the Midsummer moon. He'd known, in the passion and fumbling of that moment as they'd both known another for the first time, that he would be hers for eternity.

The month that they'd spent together that summer in a remote cabin outside of Lovech had been surreal. When he'd gotten her letter, saying that her parents had agreed to not only let her visit but stay for the entire term break, he'd dropped everything. And that had included quidditch. He'd realized that it was, quite literally, the chance of his lifetime.

The 100,000 galleon fine incurred when he'd taken that impromptu vacation and missed two whole brackets of matches had been worth every knut. The Vultures backup seeker, Dimitri 'Dimer' Kristich, had nearly throttled him on his return practice, both thanking him for the opportunity to play and cursing him for the stress of living up to his shadow. Quidditch was his world, but Hermione was his life.

His Baba had taken one look at her, upon introducing her to his family on her arrival, and declared that they were soul matched. He'd stuttered some deliberately mistranslated gibberish in English, thanking the gods she'd blurted it out in Bulgarian and only humiliated him in front of his family instead of Hermione. She'd babbled on about trials and time before she'd switched to English like lightening, normal introductory pleasantries as if nothing had occurred, embracing Hermione like one of her own grandchildren. At the time, the validity of her truth speaking had been both wonderful and shocking. And in the end his crazy Russian grandmother had been all too right.

Not that he'd ever really doubted that particular bit of prophesy. When he'd first spotted Hermione in the Top Box after the World Cup, the pain of defeat and a bludger to the face had slid away from him like water. The shock of her presence in his mind had left him off kilter and scowling for days. When he found her again at Hogwarts during the Tri-Wizard Tournament it was all he could do just to stop himself from stalking her immediately rather than playing detective to ask around about who she was. He'd felt like his entire world had been tilted, and he needed to know why. He'd been completely unprepared for the truth.

It had all snapped together in one glorious instant as he'd tossed his name into the Goblet of Fire. Karkaroff at his back, friends jostling him in congratulations, they'd caught eachothers gaze from across the crowded room. Everything filtered out of his senses, and suddenly he _saw_. He saw _everything_. He saw her as his wife, he saw their children, their lives together on an unbreakable pathway through time. And even though the prospect of knowing his own future terrified him, and even though he knew it was going to be agony to look away from her, he'd smiled. _Smiled_, just to see if she'd smile back at him. Because it was easy to smile for someone like him for someone like her.

He towel dried his hair and left the cold floor for the warmth of another room.

* * *

><p>He found her half lying on the couch, hands cradled around her cup of steaming hot chocolate frothing with whipped cream. Her hair had begun to frizz out of her braid, glinting around her like a halo in the light that filtered through the massive diamond paned windows surrounding them. She looked ethereal.<p>

She glanced up as he strode back into the room, taking in the little signs of his damp hair and the unconscious motion of his fingers against the back of his neck. She pulled herself up to fix him a cup of tea as he sat down beside her, propping his feet up on the table legs as he accepted the cup gladly.

"Feel better?"

"Da."

She wished she believed him. His body radiated exhaustion. It reminded her of the single time he'd been able to see her during the war. They'd stopped at an order safe house in Romania only to find it already occupied. Inside they'd found Viktor, pale and haggard from a mission who refused to sleep as a tired and relieved Hermione sobbed into his arms.

He'd been one of their most valuable order operatives on the Eastern European front, and at the time he'd been undercover and unreachable for several months. After he'd fallen out of contact with his handler for two weeks, word had gotten back to Hermione. She'd thought he was dead.

The Krums were a strong, venerable old pureblood family. But after Grindelwald, they were beyond unsympathetic to Voldermorts cause, so he'd ended up cultivating his mother's family name to carve out his niche during wartime. It sickened him, lowering himself to rub elbows with his blood mad second cousins for information. He'd told her so, and the look on his face left no reason for it to have been a false sentiment. She had been glad, so very glad when that bit of espionage had run its course.

So she'd found him in Romania, half dead from exhaustion but still too stubborn to lay his head to pillow as he fussed over the lack of weight in his arms. They'd been nearly a year between letters then, war not safely allowing for free correspondence, and she'd missed him. Missed his wit and the comfort of his advice in dark times. When he'd disappeared it had been as if a part of her had gone silent, locked away deep in her heart.

And even though he'd held her tenderly, as gently and sweetly as he ever had, she'd known by the look in his eyes that something had gone horribly wrong. He'd looked haunted, ravaged by whatever had driven him away from his deep cover. Hermione hadn't asked, and he hadn't offered to tell her. Months later, only snippets of what had occurred had made their way back to her through the grapevine.

"Could we visit your sister tomorrow?"

He lifted his teacup to drain the dregs, examining the contents of his cup thoughtfully.

"I'd like that."

His smile reached his eyes. It was enough.

* * *

><p>Authors Note: Once again, thanks for all the lovely reviews! It kind of killed me to type this chapter. I write out everything longhand, then type it after it's been finished, edited and re-edited often. The Potterverse is complex but essentially dead the same to real life. Spell damage in reality would probably be post traumatic stress disorder, or maybe depression. I just attempt to pull those real life parallels for realistic reactionary behavior, though trying to keep them in character throughout is such a headache.<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Six**

Dinner and bedding down had been uneventful. They'd chatted, light conversation, about the history of his cottage and what the surrounding countryside was like. Did he have neighbors? No. How far away was the nearest town? Twenty minutes by broomstick. Hermione's unending curiosity only worked to soothe frazzled nerves by offering up the barest hint of normalcy. Small and cold comfort though it may have been.

When morning broke, Hermione made a point to have Viktor stop in the garden so she could patch together a bouquet of flowers before setting off after a light breakfast. She'd chosen artemisia, nightshade, and some willow branches among some other pretty flowers to flesh out the arrangement. Though having Lavender and Parvati as roommates had been trying at times, she had not walked away from the experience completely bare handed. Wizarding culture had been foreign and archaic to her, and she'd worked hard to assimilate into the at times backwards social structure. One of the few polite niceties she'd genuinely found interesting had been flower language.

They'd left through the main gate, heading out to the end of the drive past the willows and fairy lights that twinkled in the wan spread of morning sunrise. He'd wanted to get an early start, before the rest of the world rose, and she'd understood. His hand was only mostly steady on her back as they apparated away. She'd found the pathway they were on deserted, save one truly elderly wizard who waved Viktor on with a gnarled hand as he clutched his watering can and trowel with the other.

Viktor lead them past the twin towering statues that guarded the gate, and she'd found some black humor in the stone basilisks guarding the expanse beyond. And past the winding walkways, near the raised bank of the lazy river that wound through the grounds, lay a grave. Crowned by an ornate orthodox cross was a smooth granite stone engraved with equally as ornate Cyrillic, spiky and scrolled, unfurling a birth and death date alongside chiseled cherubim that fluttered on the edges of the stone. The inscription she'd long memorized the translation to, "Loved by Many, Murdered by Few". Underneath, in an act that had rocked the wizarding media across the continent and beyond, was a dark mark hastily graffitied in all its writhing horror.

Ivanka had been a vibrant, if somewhat sheltered, breath of fresh air to Hermione. She'd defied all her preconceptions of what the daughter of a monied pureblood dynasty should be. She used muggle curse words for novelty and shock value (though she hadn't understood what half of them meant) and she'd spurned the idea of political marriage and settling for housewitchery. In her infrequent letters she'd treated Hermione, muggleborn and comparatively status-less, as a sister. She'd welcomed and befriended her without suspicion or cynicism.

She'd also been entirely too trusting in much the same way. Two years younger than Hermione, six years younger than Viktor, she'd been much cosseted and doted upon. Little occurred in her short lifespan to rattle her defenses and much was kept from her ears after Viktor had been Imperiused during the final Triwizard task. Ivanka had seemingly not learned of her brother's subterfuge until the very end.

Viktor had never purposefully divulged the exact sequence of events, or indeed the cause of his sister's death. What Hermione did know was through vague rumors and Viktor's own admissions and slips of the tongue. After a time, it had gotten back to her that during his tenure as a quasi death eater someone had used his sister as leverage. She'd subsequently died. Leverage for what, how, and why; she still to this day no idea. Then one night Hermione had found him in a pub after a Puddlemere United match, blazed to the gills and picking a fight with an Andre the Giant sized muggle. And he'd slipped. In a big way.

His despair had been palpable. It was something common after the war; everyone had their little breakdowns, his just happened to have occurred slightly later than one would have expected. He'd looked at her, hazedly blinking, fists bloody, and she'd known something had snapped. She'd dragged him to a nearby public park after forcing coffee into him. He'd followed her without question.

He had been quiet at the coffee stand, in a calm before the storm like manner, but he'd exploded when they'd approached the park. Raving in a full throated Bulgarian anguish, he'd yelled and bellowed and pulled at his hair as he dry sobbed into Hermione's own tresses. He'd been completely incomprehensible. All she'd caught was "Sestra mi, sestra mi" as he'd shaken her, cursing.

She'd known it was the whiskey loosening his brain when he'd muttered in broken English and Bulgarian about finding whoever had defaced her stone and taking them apart as he had the rest of the other men who had debased her, and she'd been utterly taken back when his one sided conversation rambled into the threatening letters she knew she hadn't told him about. Viktor didn't generally talk about retribution or protection, he just acted. And he sure as hell hadn't ever talked about what he'd done to the men who abducted and murdered his baby sister. Even in vagueness it was disturbing for Hermione on many different levels.

He'd collapsed in a drunken stupor, bearing her to the ground with him as he'd fallen, and Hermione was forced to apparate him to his parent's house for fear of leaving him unattended. It had been an awkward visit never to be repeated. She'd never seen Viktor drunk again, and it was the last she'd heard him speak of Ivanka's death to date. It had also been the only time she'd ever seen Viktor cry. When she'd read The Daily Prophet the next day she had been less than shocked to see an expose about Ivanka's headstone having been graffitied with the horrendous tattoo of the Dark Lord. She'd fingered her own faded souvenir, permanently etched into her arm, and picked up parchment to give Viktor fifty lashes with an inked quill.

Viktor currently sat on his haunches, absently picking weeds from around her headstone before conjuring water into the adjoining marble vase for the flowers they'd brought. Hermione quietly knelt beside him to arrange the bouquet. Though she'd visited the plot several times with him, it had never gotten any easier. The family had left the dark mark on the grave as a visible symbol of the depths of depravity the Dark Lord's followers would sink too, but it was still unnerving. Glancing at his face, filled with questions she would never, _could_ never ask; she found a peaceful visage. His eyes were troubled, yes, but there wasn't any anger.

"I miss her," she found herself saying. What else could she say? A thousand thoughts, all of them painful what ifs. What would she be doing if she was still alive? What kind of person would she have become?

"Da." Viktor had long since excised the demons that had born his sister away from the living, or haunted her memory. He was only left to contemplate the shadowy memories of having chased them down. The mark on her grave, on his arm, represented guilt and not fear for him. She was avenged, and her grave no longer enraged him. He could find only peace and loss in her memory.

Wind scattered leaves around them, petals falling from the bouquet to caress Ivanka's name as Hermione stood to join him in silent prayer.

* * *

><p>Another letter was waiting for Hermione when they'd arrived back at the cottage, and it had taken her a full minute of glaring at it until Viktor had cajoled her into opening it. It had been from the Weasleys, and to Hermione's surprise, it had not been from Molly but Arthur. She breathed a sigh of relief. He'd apologized profusely, making only the tepid excuse of the spell damage Harry purported, and mostly consisted of begged her to drop the charges she'd filed against his son. Her sigh turned into a groan.<p>

"Vhat?"

"Arthur's asking me to drop the charges."

"And you vant to." He sounded as frustrated as she felt.

"I don't know what I want anymore." She knew she wished for the entire debacle to disappear, beyond that her normally logical and orderly mind was in disarray. "I can't say that I'm not thinking about it. I don't know that I could face him in court."

They were ensconced in a picture window seat, surrounded by bookshelves in a private library... somewhere. With all the twists and turns, she'd quite lost her bearings as they'd meandered between the little shortcuts throughout the cottage.

Viktor carefully set aside the illuminated manuscript they'd been browsing through to palm her fingers.

"Is your decision." He squeezed her hands once before allowing them to fall back into her lap. He rose to set the ancient tome onto a reading stand, hovering over it for a moment before turning back to face her. "Just make sure it's vhat you really vant."

"That's so difficult right now. And I need to make a decision, quickly." She knew it wasn't something she could just sit on. She needed to decide and she needed to decide _now_. Either way it was going to be a media feeding frenzy.

He sat back down beside her, and the only sound in the room was the ticking of an enormous bracket clock perched on top of a glass display case.

"It's just... No one has ever taken me seriously when it came to Ron and our fights. It was always 'silly bookish Granger overreacting'. It was always up to me to apologize, it never really came to anything, even if I tried." She fidgeted, shifting on the cushions. "I kind of want to get back at him in a way, however childish that sounds. He's always gotten away with treating me poorly. No one really ever took my side."

Viktor stared stoically out the window, jerking his head in acknowledgement for her to continue.

"At the same I'm worried that I won't be taken seriously because of that. And that isn't really a good reason. Frankly."

He huffed, "Evidence speaks for itself."

She traced the window pane, staring out without seeing the scenery. "I think..," her mind warred against her heart, "I think I'll go through with it."

Viktor's anxiety receded, though outwardly placid.

"I mean, if _I_ can't go through with this of all people, what kind of message does that send to other witches?" her eyes closed, "It's not like this should be unexpected with what he did. I just feel like I'm airing dirty laundry in public."

"Dirty clothes?" Viktor's quizzical expression broke the tension in the air, and Hermione grinned.

"Umm... Dirty laundry, like private matters brought into public."

"Ah. So, Ron is like dirty sock. Makes perfect sense."

Viktor's returning smirk spoke volumes, and he returned to combing the shelves for more rare titles.

* * *

><p>The hours spent with her in his private library had been exquisite torture. Nothing short of a tour with her at Hogwarts could remind him more of how he'd fallen in love with her. Attempting to lose his trailing admirers among the stacks, he'd stumbled upon her in a deserted corner of an upper balcony in the library. Parchment scattered around her, lush curls glinting next to the stained glass she read by, he'd been immediately taken in by her quiet beauty. Her dignity, how she'd <em>ignored<em> him as he sat opposite her at the broad study desk only to glance at the book he'd quickly thumbed for pretense.

She'd been a revelation. His gift had drawn him to her but it had been Hermione herself that kept him from rejecting the somewhat frightening push of fate. Smart, studious, utterly disinterested in his fame; they were an odd couple on the surface that matched in unexpected ways, deeply so.

They were sitting in Hermione's room, Viktor in a transfigured plush armchair as Hermione sat on the floor sorting out her trunk. Viktor eyeballed her pithy collection of robes and made a calculated decision.

"Hermione."

"Yes?" Her voice was hesitant. That look from Viktor didn't bode well.

"You need new clothes." It was a statement, and not a request.

"Are you trying to say I can't dress myself?" she sounded incredulous. Not good.

"No, just need _new_ things, more nice robes." It looked as if a hippogriff had mauled most of her everyday robes. Most were fraying at the hem, or slightly threadbare. Some were obviously on their last legs, being kept around more for pretense of a full wardrobe than upon anticipation of actual use.

"Most of my robes are workrobes. I don't need a bunch of different clothes when I wear a uniform every day."

Viktor pursed his lips, unmoved.

"Vhe get you new robes."

"_Viktor,_" she growled in warning.

Leaning over to pluck a worn black robe off the floor by his foot, he eyed her while fingering the threadbare, utilitarian garment. Hermione shrieked as he rent a hole down its front with a single flex of his arm.

"This," he tore another hole with only a twitch of his fingers, "Is unacceptable."

Hermione twitched, gaping at the ruined robe.

"Vhe go shopping."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Yep. This one took a while. I enjoy torturing my characters a little too much, but, I didn't want to unman Viktor in the process. I wanted his breakdown to be realistic and not too over the top, and I'm not really sure if I accomplished that or not. It was just plain difficult to get this chapter finished and up. There's been a lot going on in my life lately -_-;;


	7. Chapter 7

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Seven**

"This is ridiculous."

Hermione was muttering to herself, throwing sharp eyes out the bay window at the ever flowing ebb and tide of people that coursed through the large square. She felt overwhelmed and paranoid. Viktor had cloaked them in wards and other notice-me-nots, so she realized the futility of her distress, however that didn't lessen her anxiety in the slightest. Even though she hadn't had a Daily Prophet in her hands in days, she was sure the publicity hounds were well after her trail by now. Being in public at the moment felt like flaying her skin in hot oil.

"Why are we here?"

Viktor threw an amused eye in the direction of her glare, assessing the situation well within a hairs breadth of Hermione's actual thought process. Sofia was an Old World bastion. Even without his glamours and charms, they would more than likely have little to worry about in the way of being harassed. Eastern block wizarding media just didn't operate like the rest of Europe, in much the same way as their muggle counterparts. Instead of chastising her, he held up a hideous orange dress robe against her shoulder.

"I think it's your color. Almost as bad as your uniform," he managed to hold back a snigger. Hermione had more than made herself clear on that subject. Nothing could change the direction of her winging faster than some well versed harassment.

"You _know_ I hate that color of green. I don't have a choice," she hissed as she had so many times before, "at least red looks good on you, Mister Nationalist." Red _did_ look good on Viktor, the lucky bastard. Between his old dress robes and his quidditch uniform, she'd never quite decided which was more enticing. She'd really lost out when it came to uniforms. Lime, she'd lamented, left her looking sallow and just horrendously Gaelic. Whoever had chosen the color had probably been most decidedly color blind.

"You could vhear, how do you say - paper bag - and make it look good, silly vitch." The deep drawl in his voice caught her breath before she blushed to her roots. Turning quickly to thumb through a rack behind him, she gathered her scattered wits. They were in a quaint, slightly out of the way shop tucked away in one corner of the square. Sofia's wizarding community, unlike the winding lanes of Britain and Scotland, was spaced out in an open air market space fenced in by an outlining box of brick and mortar shops. Lively, if a bit loud, it was both charming and daunting for foreign Hermione. Turning the price tag of a robe over in her hands, she was reassured to see the galleon mark. At least in this world she didn't have to fret about the exchange rate.

"Here, you try this one."

He was holding out a dark blue robe edged in black. It looked like a slightly updated version of a traditional cut, feminine without being overly revealing. It was something that she probably would have chosen for herself, something that had never happened when shopping with Ron. He'd always had a horrible eye for picking out clothing she'd enjoy. She snapped her brain back to the present, reaching out to flip over the price tag; practical as ever.

"Viktor, this costs near a month's salary. I'm not trying it on."

"You like it, you try it on. Simple."

She sent him a withering look, knowing better than to further the argument as she stalked to the nearest dressing room. A hovering sales-witch fumbled with the lock at her approach, ushering her into the ornately carved wooden chamber that opened to reveal an enclosed three-hundred and sixty degree mirror. Fantastic, thought Hermione sarcastically, now she'd be able to see her body gone to seed in all its glory. She quickly shed her own robes and slid into the luxurious midnight crepe.

"Is it right size?" Viktor called, outside the door as she turned to watch the material flutter around her calves.

"Yes." Why did she always have to like something so expensive? She eyeballed the high neckline that arched delicately around her chin, elongating her throat and framing her face so nicely. There was a lot to be said about a good cut.

"Come out so I can see," he called next.

Wait. No.

"No. Absolutely not." She sucked in her diaphragm and eyed her waistline.

"I'll come in then." He was infuriating. She slammed open the dressing room door, hoping to hit him but failing. He sat with arms crossed in a lounge chair for men in his state of affair, appraisingly. With a single glance at her emerging form his arms dropped.

"You look..." his voice trailed off as his eyes traced a path up her figure, taking in the small darts that hugged her body and the embroidery that fluttered at the turn of her wrists.

"Pudgy and unkempt." Hermione's hair had half blown to the nearby mountains while perusing the breezy outdoor market, and she'd definitely been informed several times in recent history that she'd lost some muscle tone over her apprenticeship.

Shoving aside the unfamiliarity of the words, though they left a bad taste in his mouth, he managed to gather his racing thoughts into coherency. "No. Ne, you look beautiful."

"Don't flatter my ego, Viktor." She needed honesty, which was why she usually went shopping by herself.

"Don't speak lies of yourself then." His eyes were flashing. Viktor stood, stalking over to her as she averted her eyes away from herself. Turning her to face away from him and back into the mirror, he gestured away the sales-witch with an errant hand. "Look."

"Look at what? My thick hips? My ratty hair?" she ground out, impatiently. This was even more embarrassment and humiliation than she'd imagined it could be.

Viktor's lips thinned, drawing a tight line as he spread taught fingers across her waist. "You are not fat, Hermione. You're not seeing." As she scoffed, he moved his hands up to her arms, "Strong, good arms for carrying too much. Hips like a woman should haff." She was built for children, his mother had said, embarrassing him into the floor as he hadn't even been out of school at the time. "Everywhere soft and beautiful. How can you not see it."

Hermione took a moment to stare into his dark eyes, so earnest, as he tucked back her escaping curls into the high bun she'd worn that day.

"...this wasn't really about buying new robes, was it."

"Don't know vhat you're talking about," he ran a hand deftly along her ribs before spinning her towards him, "robes in that trunk look like they vhere from Hogvarts." He tapped a finger on her nose before withdrawing to flit through the racks, looking for another robe for her to try on. It didn't take him long. He emerged seconds later with a daring looking black day robe, which was placed in her hand as she was gently coerced back into the dressing room for another fitting.

Little did he know that half of the robes he'd scooped off her bedroom floor to dispose of _had _been from before she'd graduated Hogwarts. Money had been tight, and even with the stipend granted along with her Order of Merlin she'd barely been making ends meet. Her tuition before her apprenticeship had been only manageable because of an academic scholarship she'd been awarded. When her parents had died, their practice in Australia had been a mess. Hermione had blamed herself, as before her memory alteration they'd never had problems managing their money. A great deal of her grants and awarded sundries from after the war had been fed into paying down their accumulated debt, which had fallen into her lap to recompense after they'd passed on. Just one more nightmare for her to deal with.

Not only hadn't she had the time or money to shop for new things, she just hadn't had the desire to. She'd never been all that fashion forward, but shopping with Ron while they'd been together had made her want to forgo the awkward pleasure indefinitely. He'd always balked at spending the amount of money she'd allocate herself on new robes, and beyond his terrible taste he had nit-picked at her figure when she tried things on and asked for his opinion. Ron had always had a thoughtless comment to spare sitting around, just waiting to be unleashed. It had been belittling, and the comments never failed to ingrain themselves persistently on her mental body image however much she tried not to take it to hear. Eventually, even when she'd begun to shop by herself she'd found a small voice instilled within her that cataloged every ripple and perceived fault in the mirror. It seemed that somehow Viktor had, as always, picked up on her dwindling self esteem when it came to her physical appearance.

An hour later and they had made an impressive pile of 'things that fit and look good'. Viktor had plopped down a heavy bag of galleons on the counter before Hermione had even emerged from the dressing room with her own clothing on, having purchased and packed away the lot discreetly after she'd fretted over trying to pick two or three that she could afford to splurge on. Hermione had eyed the empty table, eyed Viktor, then dissected his innocent expression with a sharp tongue that was both grateful for his attentiveness as well as incredibly put out by his disregard for her self-sufficiency.

* * *

><p>Viktor, with her arm safely ensconced against the bustle of the crowd, escorted them both to his favorite open air lunch stall. Skara barbeque tasted twice as delicious while sitting on spell heated chairs with colorful flags dancing in the breeze above them. Hermione indulged herself with local mineral water, nearly as popular with the stalls they'd passed as it was in France oddly enough, while Viktor treated himself to an unpronounceable brew with much gusto.<p>

"Vant a taste?" he sipped at his pale lager, tipping the tall glass back and forth.

"I still don't like it, you know. Beer tastes like unbaked bread." She blushed slightly at Viktor's quirked eye. "Just because I'm British doesn't mean that have to like a pint. I'll stick to butterbeer, thanks."

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "It's an acquired taste. Is okay."

"So, you've got practice tomorrow," she mopped at her lips with her napkin, pushing her plate back.

"Da. In the morning."

"I was thinking maybe I'd visit Harry and Ginny while you're out. They're due back today, but I wanted to give them time to settle in. I need to talk to Harry about the investigation and get a better idea of what's going on."

Viktor leaned in over the counter on his elbows, countenance darkening once again, "You're still thinking about that spell damage bullshit."

"Viktor, it's going to come up when this thing goes to the Wizengamot. I've got to know what's being done in the Aurory investigation on that angle. Whether or not I personally believe it or otherwise."

"I do not like this trip vhile I'm avay. I vorry." He was tiredly rubbing a palm to his throat, scratching at the stubble that he'd missed.

"I know," Hermione intoned softly. "But, I have to do some of this by myself. I can't lean on you forever."

He stilled, then shot her a look that was smoldering before he rose to his feet, heels clicking together as his body assumed the familiar ridged stance of a full attention bow.

"I told you vonce that you could _alvays_ rely on me, that you could _alvays_ turn to me for anything. I step aside effen though I fear vhat may happen. Effen though I vorry; I step aside. Do not ask this again of me."

Hermione hastily stood to pull him up from his stooped position, awkwardly tugging on his hands in embarrassment and sniffling back her own seemingly instantaneous overwhelming emotion as he continued, accent thick as his emotion.

"It is not leaning if I stand beside you." He cupped her hands, kissing them before he pulled away to smack a clutch of sickles on the counter.

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Note:<strong> Well, that one flowed relatively easily in comparison. Thank god. Though, I think I'm slightly shorter than usual on this one. But I couldn't really find it in myself to add anything more in to beef up the chapter without taking away from the next one. I'm really starting to get a feel for where this is going, though I don't have everything quite planned out yet. As always I've already gotten ahead of myself and even though I'm still getting to the meat of the story I've already written the last chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Eight**

"I swear on that Bible, Viktor, if you make me cry one more time I'm going to punch you in the groin."

Viktor patted her hand as she sniffled, eyes burning as she yawned back any welling tears. They'd apparated away from the wizarding town to a deserted area in the countryside. He'd tugged her down a lane and into a crumbling stone church, its ramshackle and overgrown yard concealing chunks of fallen stone that had worked their way loose from its walls. The sloping tiled roof was neatly patched in several places, showing that the villagers obviously cared but perhaps lacked the means to restore the ancient stone pile. He sat her down in one of the well worn wooden chairs outlining the walls of the nave, as there were no pews but an open space for parishioners to stand and worship. Hermione blearily attempted to study the faded iconstasis, a mess of peeling gilt that featured the ever popular St. George, and then moved to the equally spotty Holy Alter. It was massive and prominent in the sanctuary amidst the patterned tiled floor interspersed with threadbare carpeting.

They were being eyed by several black kercheifed elderly women, but it was better than the gaping stares of the stall proprietors he'd pulled her away from. One of the women tittered, rattling her beaded prayer rope as Hermione wiped her face on Viktor's sleeve. She settled into his shoulder as Viktor's hands enclosed her own, rubbing at her icy digits. Surrounded by haloed medieval icons with Viktor in his traditional woolen tunic, herself wrapped in shawls, Hermione felt like she'd stepped back in time. He'd all but pledged a fealty oath to her; a lord to his courtly lady. But Viktor had always been like that. During the Yule ball she'd torn a strip out of the hem of her dress robes when she'd trod on the excess length in her kitten heels. Unbeknownst to her at the time, he'd scooped it and later knotted it into a bracelet that he'd worn until it fell to pieces. She'd imagined him quite easily as a knight wearing her token or colors.

"I'm sorry," his slight tilt of the lips betrayed his lack of sincerity.

He let his eyes roam to the dusty rafters before drifting shut. Hermione nudged his leg with her knee, snorting when he cracked an eyelid only to ignore her. He hated it when she cried. It made him feel powerless and tugged at his already taut heartstrings. Their destination had been entirely subconscious, and he lay the blame solely on her discomposure.

"I'll bet," she joked back, dryly.

One of the elderly women tottered over, grasping Hermione's hands to herself in a grandmotherly fashion as she leaned her leathery face in to peek under Hermione's bright shawl. She laughed, chattering at Viktor as she patted Hermione's hands. Viktor sat up straight at her approach, stuttering an answer back in Bulgarian, his face turning rosy as the older woman's mirth grew at his embarrassment. She reached out and patted his flaming cheek before letting loose a final cackle and shuffling away.

Hermione's eyes bore into Viktor's as he stammered, rubbing compulsively at his neck as she stared him down.

"Viktor."

"Da...," he replied, noncommittally.

"Oh come on, tell me what she said."

He shifted, leaning back to grasp the wood of the chair back behind her shoulders before propping up his high boots underneath her own feet, jiggling them as she swatted at him. Puffing, she glared to let him know the distraction tactic wasn't working.

"I apparate us here because it's the first place I think of. Used to come here during the var to think, get avay from the vizarding vorld," he paused, flexing the arm that lay behind her. "This is muggle church," he explained.

"Baba Popova," he nodded to the severely dressed woman in black, "alvays ask me how I am doing, says she prays for me." The emotion on his face was thick. The sentiment had obviously meant a lot to Viktor at the time, and given his history and why he had been coming to the church, it probably would have been obvious to the woman the amount of strain that the wizard was enduring. "She says she's glad I have such pretty vife to make life better now, effen if I make her cry like stupid boy."

It was Hermione's turn to stutter, blushing wildly at the inference. Though it hadn't been the first instance of people assuming they were married. They had been mistaken as a couple several times when strolling through Diagon Alley, though an infrequent occurrence in and of itself. One erstwhile shopping excursion a sales-witch at an off the beaten track clothing shop had tried to peddle Hermione bridal robes, much to her chagrin and Viktor's amusement. It had been a mystifying experience since the amount of press generated when The Prophet had picked up on the fact that Ron and Hermione were dating had been staggering. Hermione had assumed that the whole of the wizarding world had been informed of her love life.

It was a strange feeling, being what they once had been. Being with Viktor, truly being with him in every sense of the word had been a whirlwind interlude. They'd spent several months during the Tri-Wizard Tournament slowly dancing around each-other, then a brief heated month in Bulgaria, and then it had been over. The war had torn them apart in so many different ways, and one of them had been from each-other.

Hermione had been unable to erase that summer from her memory. It had haunted her, stalking every lusty moment from her first tumble with Ron at The Burrow to the last death throes of her trying to pick up the pieces of their shattered friendship. However emotionally bloodletting Ron's passion, nothing ever had come close to the intimacy she'd shared with Viktor. Ron had worried at her like a loose tooth, the possibility of 'them' had rattled around at the back of her mind since she'd been aware that such possibilities existed among friends. He was also always _there_. Always the safe option, always available, the expected outcome. It had been all too easy to give in.

Viktor, thousands of miles away, had lit a fire with a single smile that Ron couldn't have hoped to match at full charm. But the distance and circumstances had been very nearly overwhelming. One could only suffer so many nervous breakdowns alone. The distance, more-so the lack of communication, was what had made things so difficult during the war. The weeks after their month long romance, his letters had smoldered. She kept them tied with a red ribbon, separated out from the immense stack at the bottom of her trunk where Ron would never find them, hidden in an embroidered pouch Viktor had sent to her from Assisi in Italy. When the letters had stopped, and later when Ron begun to falter, she'd read them to soothe the missing portion of her heart in increasingly painful hindsight.

She'd loved Ron with an ease born of childhood friendship and daily closeness, but Viktor had stirred something deeper, something she could never pin down even with their parallel intellect. It had frightened the pants off of her as a fourteen year old. After years of separation a large portion of her heart was still fanning embers even as it ached for Ron's betrayal. It was maddening.

"Oh." She fought to control the heat in her cheeks, failing miserably.

Viktor's lip curled as he watched the blush spread prettily across her face for a second time. He'd done little to dissuade the older woman from her assumptions. A second sleepless night had him wrestling against his deeply ingrained guilt, feelings of inadequacy and fear to fully embrace his second chance at pursuing her. If all went as he hoped, Baba Popova's assumption wouldn't be pleasant fiction for much longer.

* * *

><p>They were digging through a clothing stall, Hermione goggling over several shawls that were priced at a pittance as Viktor translated the coin for her, passing her a good amount of Bulgarian Lev as she protested and he pressed it on her bemusedly. She dove into the bin beside the low hanging table to see what else she could find before hesitantly purchasing her favorites and moving on. Everything seemed to be for sale, from soviet era military goods to fruits and vegetables, and Hermione delighted in the pageantry of it all. Sellers called out, advertising their wares throatily, pushing silk and fruit into her hands alike as she browsed the stalls, trying to make a sale. Viktor pointed out a used book vendor, and they were off.<p>

It was good to see her smiling, but the back of Viktor's neck prickled, causing him to yet again reassess their surrounding. Something was itching under his skin, prowling his subconscious as they picked their way through the muggle market. Hermione had insisted on them apparating back to see the non-magical half of the center city, so at the moment they were winding their way through crowded side street stores and shopping stalls. Most of the muggles here were honest to a point, but he knew the area well enough not to get into trouble. He kept his eyes trained on several men whose body language and attire shrieked Bulgarian mafia, only somewhat bemusedly.

Hermione stumbled as a little girl dropped her bag in front of them, causing Viktor's reflexes to snap as he stepped in front of her while steadying her with a strong grip. He stopped her instantly as she went to help the child, pulling her up short. Something felt wrong with the entire situation, and he gave in to his gut instinct as he wrapped himself around her side, pulling her after him as he whipped them down a side-street then into an abandoned alleyway. Pushing her up against a brick wall, catching his breath as he looked around for muggles and open windows, before apparating them away and home before Hermione could utter a peep.

Moments later, unbeknownst to either of them, an explosion ripped through the marketplace. But the wizarding media didn't keep tabs of _muggle_ terrorist incidents.

* * *

><p>It had taken him a full hour of apologizing and petting to calm a fuming Hermione, and she was still slightly pissed off. At the same time he couldn't really budge his paranoia. He hadn't felt this unsettled since the war. He could have sworn that dark magic had tingled on the edges of his senses, a taste he was all too familiar with.<p>

"You're plotting something." She ran a finger down the spine of her shut book, eying his half attentive stare into the grated fireplace.

Dinner was cluttered around them in an informal parlor, and Viktor sat toasting cheese by the fireside languidly. His grip on the irons increased before he turned a convincingly innocent gaze in her direction.

"That look doesn't work on me, Viktor. You know better." He crossed his eyes purposefully and her hand twitched to toss the book in his direction.

"Not plotting. Planning." He rose to offer her the rarebit, mind still whirring away.

"Just what are you _planning_, then. I'm still going, I've got an owl for us to meet at his office tomorrow morning. I'll be visiting with Harry sodding Potter inside the M.O.M. Aurory. I'll be fine."

Viktor scowled, "I still don't like this. Vhat about to and from the ministry? Vhen you're not vith Potter? I know you, Hermione. Too many holes. Not safe."

"You're being paranoid, Pimpernel. Ron's been arrested. And I highly doubt some crazy fan is going to jump me in front of the ministry; I'll be in public spaces the entire time."

He bit his lip to keep from saying that it wasn't only Ron he was worried about.

Hermione picked at the bread betraying her own nervousness. She'd deliberately chosen a field outside the ministry because of her distrust of the bureaucratic institution in general. Not to mention visiting certain branches was nightmare inducing due to past experiences. She rubbed at the scar just beneath her breastbone with her free hand, swallowing the toast with a nervous gulp.

He scooted himself back to plop in front of her chair. He shifted onto his knees to grasp the arms of her chair, looming over her before leaning back to sit on his haunches, apparently unable to make up his mind.

"Spit it out already, if you're going to try and intimidate me into doing something at least do it properly."

He eyed her darkly, before sighing and bowing his head forward as she began to play with his dark curls.

"If you must do this...," he trailed off, looking up to her unmoved face with an agitated glare, "you're taking something with you."

"What do you mean?"

He pulled back, bringing her hands down from his hair to grip between his own own fidgeting fingers. He squeezed them, hesitating again.

"I have family heirloom I'd forgotten about before. Powerful, powerful magic. It creates link between two people who vear them, so I know if you're in danger." He dropped her hands to fumble inside his tunic, pulling out a small wooden box. He tapped it with his wand, enlarging it before opening the box to reveal velvet lining and two band bracelets. "Maika giff them to me after var," he added awkwardly.

"Viktor, those," her throat closed realizing what they symbolized. "Viktor I...," she didn't know what to say, emotions pulling her in two different directions entirely.

"You von't go unless I do something, something so I know you come back safe." His voice had gone gruff and uncompromising, and he slid the larger more masculine band onto his wrist, activating the family enchantments with a few deft phrases quickly under his breath. He forced down his anxiety to continue. "It doesn't...," he floundered, "it doesn't haff to mean vhat you think. Liubov moia, I," he stopped to gather himself. He was so close to hyperventilating. He bowed his head once more, drawing himself into a tight bow over his knees.

"I can't lie that I haffn't hoped, but, is too soon after... Hermione I must know that you are safe." He struggled to find the words.

Because what he was offering her was as good as a proposal. Hermione, he was sure, realized what the relics he'd brought before her meant. They were betrothal gifts passed down through generations of first sons, as in many pureblood families. Powerful protection bearing bonds that would speak to all who saw them that they belonged to one another.

After they'd apparated home he'd wracked his memory for something to protect her from whatever phantom that was stalking them, real or imagined as it may be, something that wasn't dark and wouldn't eventually do her more harm than good. Baba Popova's words clicked and then he'd remembered the ancient bands passed through generations of Krum brides. It was the only non-permanent solution he could think of. And she wasn't going to leave his house without some manner of protection or his own presence, he'd see to it or be cursed by his own wand.

"I vill make them invisible, no vone has to know." Even though the thought made him want to break things, because he wanted to brand himself so far into her skin that everyone would know that he'd rain down hell and vengeance if she was harmed.

"Viktor," her voice was soft, twisted up like her hands. "This is supposed to be for your wife. I can't...," her voice broke, no knowing how to continue without breaking both her heart and his.

Viktor's eyes were alight, glassy in his heated gaze. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to be worried that without the protection of his hand she'd be touched by violence yet again. He wasn't supposed to be embarrassed at his forwardness when she still had another in her heart. He wasn't supposed to be hacking out an unromantic proposal that left his own heart twisting in the wind. It was all wrong, but still.

"You must know...," he swallowed hard, "You must know that there is no vone else. Neffer haff been." He'd tried to move on, but it had been impossible. There was never the possibility of anyone else wearing them. He stared at her ever widening eyes as his heart tried to beat out of his chest. "Just, just think please. I von't ask for your hand yet but let me shield you, mila. All I ask."

The silence was unbearable. He didn't dare look up to face the rejection that he was sure would follow his hasty plan. He'd been honest with his feelings, meaning the pain would be all the worse.

"Yes."

"_Vhat?_" He no longer trusted his hearing at that point, cradling the half empty box in one hand as he reflexively saluted with his other as he waited for the ax to fall.

"**Yes.**" It was a breathy whisper as she held out her matching wrist, waiting for him to move.

Viktor shuddered, moving to slide the bracelet onto her wrist with a reverence akin to religious exaltation. He could barely breath as he coached her tongue around the archaic foreign words with simple definitions that would insure her protection; Devotion, Honor and Love.

"I need time." Her voice was as tremulous as it was hopeful and apologetic.

"I can giff you time."

* * *

><p>Hermione woke up to breakfast in bed, a nice wake-up call from Padushka. Guilt tore at her for asking the elf to wake her up for her appointment. She should have known that the pinafore loving elf wouldn't leave it at that. She'd long ago learned that trying to "free" elves as it were did more harm for them than good, but she never the less found the practice of keeping them at best disconcerting. Padushka at least seemed more balanced than many elves she'd encountered (Kreacher not withstanding), as she hadn't punished herself that she'd been aware of during her stay or tried to 'help' in the way that Dobby had about him. Elves were undeniably odd creatures. The entire matter of magical species and their interactions with wizarding culture was.. foreign, no matter how much she learned about the origins of certain laws throughout life.<p>

She ate then dressed, milling about her room before flooing her way to the great room by the front entrance. Viktor had showed her how to use the in-house floo network the night before, not wanting to take any chances with her navigating the labyrinth like corridors. Despite it being rather early in the morning he was already long gone. His practice had started at the crack of dawn, seven in the morning for a brutal dry-land warmup before they even got into the air.

It was early. Too early for her appointment. But Hermione had other plans. Donning the thick woolen cloak Viktor had given her, she walked beyond the willows and apparated away to her desired destination.

Arriving, she started off from the deck of St. Mungo's towards her office, intent on picking up her hopelessly backlogged paperwork as planned. What Viktor didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Hermione refused to let herself be frightened of doing things that needed done, press or no press, and if it meant telling a white lie to her best friend/bodyguard so be it. And she was more than a little behind on paperwork. Her mind balked at the thought of trying to remember days old cases, occupying her thoughts with a hateful deluge of envisioned monotony. But, as always, life never went quite as Hermione had intended it to.

"Oi."

Without warning she was pulled down into a lounge chair, arm wrenched as she was drawn against a body taught with rage.

"You stupid _bitch_."

And then her nightmare exploded into reality.

* * *

><p><strong>Translation: <strong>_Liubov moia_ - My love. Translation provided once again by the extremely helpful Ziminar!**  
><strong>

**Author's Note: **Well, I'm sorry this took so long to get to you all. It took a long time of me rolling this around in my head to get it to where I wanted it. I wanted to dive deep into the thick of things and then leave everyone hanging XD I really want to thank everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and put on alert; especially Savva and Kyria of Delphi who have continually encouraged me with their kind words and helpful thoughts. Please, please let me know if I have made any errors! I'm so grateful when this happens as I know errors detract from the reading experience.


	9. Chapter 9

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Nine**

He'd shoved her down beside him, immobilizing her instantly with a non-verbal Petrificus Totalus. When had he gotten so handy with non-verbals? Where had he come from in the first place?

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, witch. Trying to ruin me? What the fuck, Hermione, you know it was just a goddamn row."

Hermione's stomach twisted and spat into her throat as he gripped her arm underneath her cloak so hard that her wrist bones ground against each-other.

"You're going to sit there and listen. Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_. Shit, Hermione, you," he panted, running a hand across her brow to draw back her loose hanging hair out of her face, turning her stiff body so that she was facing him rather than the coming and going passers-by. "Look at me. I was in fucking Azkaban until an hour ago. Look at what you've done to me."

And Ron did look ragged. He sported two blooming black eyes, and the whole left side of his face looked as if he'd ran his broom face first into a brick wall. His ginger hair was lank and filthy, as if he'd slept in a hedge without a cushioning spell, and he seemed to be slathered in healing potions. His right arm was wrapped in equally filthy bandages, but his left arm seemed to work just fine as he slowly twisted her own limb in it's socket.

It was then that Hermione began to panic. He looked manic, deathly pale and all freckles as his face contorted into a grimacing sneer. She pushed at the spell to no avail; it wouldn't budge. Willing someone to look at the disheveled man and realize the situation, she cursed how well he blended in with the hospital patrons. People in all states of distress half-haphazardly milled about the lobby around them.

"You have to know I didn't mean to. You don't need to do this. Don't let them do this to me. Ten years between us, Hermione. _Ten years_."

His obviously damaged hand had wrapped around her and into her hair in a parody of an embrace, pulling until the curls were taut against her tender skull and tears welled reflexively from the discomfort. The litany of profanities running through her head was only equal to the self flagellation for having put herself in harms way in the first place. Her arm began to go blessedly numb, though she could still feel his fingertips digging into her flesh like brands.

Suddenly there was a loud crack from behind her, and Ron was pulled out of her view. She could hear patrons shrieking in alarm and scuffling, and then skin against skin as whoever had manhandled Ron out of the way struggled with him. Then Harry's face loomed into view, and she sagged forward as her body became mobile once more.

She dimly registered Harry asking if she was alright as she shook, turning to watch in dull amazement as four aurors struggled with Viktor to pull him away from a well bloodied Ron. He was still fully suited up in his practice uniform, blood dripping from beneath his seekers gloves and a gash above one eye. One stray auror rushed Ron away into a lift, and the look on Ron's face as the doors shut made Hermione hyperventilate. She stared at the shut door, trying to tune out the questions being volleyed at her.

"Viktor," she moaned. How had he?

Viktor shook off the men holding onto his shoulders as he glared at Ron's retreat, stalking over to Hermione to take her into his arms. He pressed her face into the sweat damp front of his crimson uniform, and she could feel his muscles ripple around her as he rumbled Bulgarian curse words she scarcely recognized. His arms tightened, and as she hissed, his grip turned feather light.

"Are you hurt," he choked out, stepping back to examine her with eyes that contained barely suppressed violence. He wanted chase after Ron and finish up, then throttle and kiss her senseless. Of course she wouldn't go straight to her appointment. Of course she wouldn't listen to him.

"Not really," she managed to gasp back. Slightly light headed from her desperate breathing, she swayed, and was once again engulfed by Viktor's arms. Harry hovered, barking out orders to his subordinates in a tone so enraged it hardly sounded like English. Viktor pressed a kiss into her hair before turning his gaze to Harry.

"Vhy the **fuck** vas _**he **__here_." Viktor didn't even bother trying to not to shout. He was beyond shouting. Beyond controlling the hatred that rolled through his veins at the present moment. They were full up on sheer luck that they'd arrived in time to stop him from beating the younger man to death. Physical violence was always more gratifying than wand work when he was pissed.

The day had started out badly and just seemed to have gotten worse and worse. When he'd gotten to practice he'd been pulled into the coaches office to receive a dressing down for skipping practice. He'd lied to Hermione; he'd called off the day after she'd left Ron. While Soviet style quidditch teams no longer technically existed, the rigorous training style persisted. Coaches still ruled their players with an iron grip, and compared to many in the International League their teams were fanatically strict.

Georgi Milanov, the aforementioned head coach, had lashed out by pushing him harder, faster, and longer than the rest of the team during the already punishing compulsory dry-land warmup. Viktor had felt half dead before he even hit the air, energy sapped from a lousy four hours sleep of tossing and turning with worry over the upcoming day. It had taken him twice as long as usual to catch the snitch during the mid-practice scrimmage, something heartily bemoaned by his fellow teammates much to his embarrassment. When they'd started into a second round of aerials his wrist began to burn as if his betrothal band was on fire. Falling back on the childhood memory of his grandfather's stories, he'd concentrated on the bands innate magic and apparated blind.

The earth had spun a little more slowly on it's axis when he saw Hermione sitting with Ron neatly wrapped around her. Then he'd noticed the grip he had on her and her unnatural stillness and he'd snapped. He dearly hoped he'd broken several bits of the bastard permanently.

Harry ran a shaky hand through his already hopeless hair and glowered right back at Viktor.

"He was here for evaluation, alright. I didn't bloody expect Hermione to come here before our appointment or I would have said something." At that note he turned to eye Hermione with a pained exasperation that made her want to curl even further into Viktor than she already was, then resumed his staring contest with her erstwhile bodyguard. "How in the seven hells did you know to apparate here from _Bulgaria_ in the first place?"

He sighed as Viktor said nothing and instead stared him down. "Alright, alright. Let's just go to my office and talk there. Just... give me a second." He turned to one of his people standing nearby, speaking rapidly in a hushed tone.

Viktor tilted his chin down onto Hermione's head, leaning in to whisper to her, " Are you sure you're not hurting, mila. Vhe see healer." His fingers trailed gentle warmth up Hermione's spine, chasing away the chill Ron had left behind.

"Just a little bruised I think," she rotated her shoulder painfully, "I'll be fine."

His jaw clenched. "Should haff killt him vhen I had the chance."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty certain you broke his jaw, mate," chimed in Harry, who had walked back to join them. He shrugged at Hermione's horrified moue and Viktor's death-glare.

* * *

><p>Harry's own jaw dropped. Both literally and figuratively.<p>

"Wait. You, you what?"

Hermione sighed, and Viktor, pacing behind her chair to work off his left over adrenaline, stopped to rub at her shoulders. When she reached up to still his hand on her sore shoulder their now visible bands clinked with a near musical chime.

"So, uh, you're engaged?"

Harry always seemed to have a gift for saying the wrong thing at any given moment when it was clearly not necessary. Viktor began pacing another circuit and Hermione resisted the temptation to bang her head against the desk in front of her, but she wasn't certain it wouldn't collapse under the weight of the truly prolific stacks of paperwork piled on top. Parchment littered the floor in a sea of little balls, as if a snow storm of apathy had hit his office and he just hadn't bothered to shovel.

"Technically? Yes. In practice? No."

"I'm confused," Harry rubbed underneath the bridge of his glasses, eying Hermione with a halfheartedly vexed stare.

"That makes two of us then."

"Well, you better damn well figure it out before I get pelted with owls by Molly. I'll have to tell her something after Ron get's his nightly owl." Ah, Azkaban reforms at their finest.

"I already told her I'm on holiday in Bulgaria. She'd have to be obliviated if she didn't pick up that I'm staying with Viktor, and that's all she needs to know." Hermione's patience was wearing thin. For all that it was nice to see Harry, this wasn't what she needed at the particular moment.

"You're right, but you know that after Ron tells her everything she won't be able to leave it at that."

"Well then she can call me a slag again and be done with it. I don't give a damn anymore, it's bloody well none of her business who stopped Ron from assaulting me for a second time in one week."

"Hermione, it's not like that."

"Isn't it? Tell me when she hasn't automatically assumed the worst in this kind of situation, Harry. I love Molly to bits but she jumps to conclusions like a hippogriff on a ferret."

Viktor interrupted, unable to hold his tongue any longer.

"Vhy vasn't there an auror vith him? Answer me that vone."

Harry cringed. "Yeah, that was a fuck up, alright? Some damn FNG left him sitting there while he went to check in with the receptionist. He assumed because his wand had been confiscated at Azaban and because they were at St. Mungo's he wasn't a threat to anyone."

"Vhat is FNG," muttered Viktor to Hermione.

"Fucking new guy," she muttered back.

"Oh." Viktor relaxed a little at Hermione's amusement.

"This add to his charges, da?" Viktor cringed at his passable English, but the potent combination of Hermione's attack and being forced to deal with Potter, whom he had never quite gotten along with, harried his thought process. At first meeting he'd felt threatened by Harry's closeness with Hermione, though their relationship was unfailingly one of brother to sister, but later it had been his capability to propel her into the direct middle of any mortal danger to be found that had clinched his dislike of the wizard. He'd used her several times as bait for high profile dark wizards during investigations, though entirely of Hermione's volition, which was something Viktor could never forgive the man for. All for one, one for all; that one being Harry James Potter in Viktor's opinion. Hermione's loyalty was boundless to the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Piss-The-Shit-Out-Of-Him.

"It all depends on if Hermione wants to press charges." Harry was doing little to contain his own discomfort with the situation, and Hermione was obviously floundering with her best friends lack of decisiveness.

"He assaulted her. Put under spell, twist her arm, god knows vhat he say to frighten her and you...," he paused, groping about for the right word, "hesitate; you hesitate."

"It isn't my decision Krum. Technically I shouldn't have anything to do with this at all. I'm biased." Harry was obviously losing patience with being interrogated. "But half of the whole damn wizarding community is blood related in some shape or form so no one really cares about that rule."

"I'm sorry, Harry," murmured Hermione, eyes fixed on his desk.

Viktor bit back an oath, wanting to yell at her for apologizing for no fault of her own but his unwillingness to chastise her at such a low moment won out.

All of a sudden the door flung open, banging against the adjacent wall with a clatter to wake the dead and in stormed George Weasley like a firetruck to a blaze, red hair nearly sparking and eyes afire.

"Where is he, the bleeding tosser, I'll fucking kill him this time," he snarled.

"George!" exclaimed Hermione, both startled and delighted to see the former twin.

The redhead blinked, then gaped as he took in Hermione and Viktor's arms. He nodded to Krum, eyes moving back to evaluate the witch before drawing her out of her chair and cradling her into his arms.

"How are ya, love?" Viktor lowly growled, and George resisted the temptation to stick his tongue out over-top of Hermione's head to take the piss out of him just a little bit more.

"Merlin's flaming underpants, George, you're going to tell me who's in your pocket this time or I'll burn down the damn store." Harry looked livid, hand clutching his wand in a way that would have made any sane man nervous. Whatever informant in his crew was passing along information, he was dead man. George, however, thought it was floppy bunnies and damned if he wasn't ready for a tea party, completely unfazed. The twins had been anything if not ever so slightly unhinged.

"But that would be telling," he danced around the crumpled paper ball tossed at his head, twirling Hermione in a ballroom step that had Viktor fairly clutching after her in distress. "And Nimue knows the family needs someone other than Mum relaying information about darling little brother."

When he saw Hermione flinch at the mention of Molly his face darkened. "None of us think the worse of you, poppet, even Mum in her heart of hearts. Ron's just her baby boy. She'll come around." At that he twirled her back into her chair before Viktor had a heart attack or hexed him and then popped himself up onto the desk, dislodging a stack of parchment onto the floor as Harry groaned from his office chair.

"So when did this," he gestured between the two as Viktor resumed looming over Hermione's chair, "occur."

"He was in the lift at St. Mungo's when I had a nervous breakdown after escaping the flat," replied Hermione dryly.

George's ever fixed grin twitched a little.

"Ah." He began to kick his feet against the desk, jostling even more parchment onto the floor until Harry shoved him off with a huff.

"Well, Krum, let's us gentlemen have a parlay in the hall, say you?"

* * *

><p>"How is she. Really." George eyed the hunched form of the other wizard, who was obviously not enthusiastic for having left his witch alone with Harry as he worked his shin guards off before shrinking them and stowing them in a hidden pocket. George himself stood with his lanky body leaning against a wall next to a tall potted plant, idly snapping leaves off as he watched Viktor strip himself of his padded equipment.<p>

"I don't know." Viktor pausing to rub at his neck, wondering what Potter would say to Hermione in his absence. "She von't tell me in full. She is hurting, I know that, but...," he dropped his hand, shrugging.

"Bastard," muttered George. "I should have taken his arm off instead of breaking it."

"I break his jaw, but then there vere too many aurors." Viktor rolled his shoulder, hands clenching.

"I'm assuming that's how you knew she had been attacked?" He pointed to Viktor's wrist, eying the band with something akin to resignation and jealousy.

"Da."

At Viktor's affirmation George straightened and then lunged forward to press his wand against the other wizards throat.

"You know I like you, mate. I trust you and all that rot. But you better take care with her or I'll bloody well take care of you. I'll find a way. You know me."

He could have informed him that the arrangement wasn't exactly as George had assumed, but that would have been counter productive. Instead, he nodded tersely, causing George to stow his wand with a slow hand.

"Dad's trying to get Ron released on bail. So heads up."

Viktor's already black mood darkened. "After this? I think not."

George shook his head. "He's a fucking war hero; the lovable mutt part of the golden trio while they tend to crucify Hermione for everything under the sun. They'll go easy on him by default."

"Ve're all fucking war heroes," he bit out in frustration.

"I know mate, I know."

* * *

><p>The tension in the air was thick when they walked back into the cramped office.<p>

"I'm not pressing charges."

Viktor looked at her, looked at Potter, then resisted the overpowering urge to reach across the table and strangle the other wizard.

"Vhat?"

"I'm not pressing charges. He was only trying to talk to me, Viktor, and after being in Azkaban... I don't think he necessarily meant to scare me or do me any real harm. It wasn't like last time."

Harry interjected, averting his eyes from Viktor's vengeful scowl, "It seems like any harm done was.. accidental in this case. Ron was overwrought."

With a wordless growl of frustrating, he reached for the sleeve of Hermione's robe, carefully batting away her hands as she protested his peeling it back to her elbow. Lifting up her arm up for viewing, he thrust the fresh evidence of Ron's mishandling into Harry's view. George, in the background, hissed at the sight of the angry looking new marks contrasted with the linger of old bruises that had mostly faded from her skin.

"Look, damn you. Tell me, Auror Potter, if that looks like _accident_ to you."

"I realize that, but it's going to make her look vindictive if she presses more charges. It isn't going to help her in the long run." Harry looked sick to his stomach and restless, one knee jiggling under the desk as he swallowed his unease.

"If he makes bail because they don't think she is in danger, it's on your head Potter," fumed Viktor.

"Everyone, just calm down. Please." Hermione shoved Viktor's hands away, rolling down her sleeve before pinning both men with a glare that could have melted cursed ice. "Since it's rather obvious there hasn't been much development with the case yet, I think I'm done here. Harry, thank you for your time and I'll be in touch. It was good to see you." She rose to leave.

"Oi, what about me," came George's petulant objection as he sprang to take her arm, helping her rise. Viktor twitched.

"You can take me to Grimmauld Place so I can chat with Ginny. Viktor needs to get back to practice, I'm sure."

"Hermione," the low rumble in Viktor's voice was a warning as they made their way out of the office.

"See you later, ickle Potterkins," rang George, over his shoulder.

"I'll owl you later tonight, okay Hermione?" Potter moved to crouch in front his desk, fiddling with the dropped paperwork. "Love you."

"Yes, yes. Alright. Love you too you, you great pillock."

"Oi, I resemble that remark!"

George snickered as the door closed, leaving them making their way down the dimly lit hallway towards the lifts.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>This chapter practically wrote itself, thank goodness! Sometimes it's hard to figure out which direction to move a story in, but now that we're really moving into the thick of things it's getting a smidge easier. Thanks again to all my lovely reviewers; pureangel86, borntoliveforever, firefly and all you other wonderful folks. It's so nice to get feedback and encouragement!

According to Wikipedia Georgi Milanov is the head coach of Team Bulgaria, the national ice hockey team. I'm a long time ice hockey player so I couldn't help but add that nod. My idea of what Viktor's practice might be like is based on my personal experiences with hockey training. Even though you're playing on a different surface (whether it be on ice or so I imagine in the air) there is always a land based training schedule; running, weight training and stretching as well as practicing the actual sport. I can't make up my mind whether I believe that Soviet style training would have seeped into wizarding sport, but I decided to include it anyway due to it's pervasiveness. An excellent book on the differences between Soviet and Canadian/U.S. styles of hockey is "Behind the Red Line" by Tod Hartje. It's excellent reading, and I really pull a lot of my vision of what Viktor's quidditch teammates would be like and a myriad other details from that particular book.**  
><strong>


	10. Chapter 10

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Ten**

Unsurprisingly, Viktor was not at all happy with Hermione's idea.

"After vhat just happened, you expect me to leaf and go practice."

"I'll be fine. We know where he is and I'll have George with me as an escort. We'll go straight to Grimmauld Place and I'll apparate straight back to the cottage when I'm done. I promise."

"That," he paused to pin her with an unconvinced glower, "is vhat you say _last time_."

"I know, and I'm sorry." Hermione rubbed at her wrist, worrying at the now tender joints. "I won't be that stupid again. I've learned my lesson."

"I'll give you a Wizards Oath, she'll be unharmed and I won't let her go anywhere in between here and there. And she goes straight home afterwards." George offered his hand, staring at Hermione to make sure she understood the gravity of his offer.

Viktor took a long moment before grasping his palm, gingerly pumping it with a firm grip as he felt the tingling magic of George's promise seep into his body. "I'll hold you to that, Veasley."

"Right then. Off we go." George steered Hermione through the Atrium and towards a floo connected hearth with one hand set into the small of her back, tossing a grin back at a fuming Viktor, who was already regretting his decision.

Viktor sighed, watching them disappear into the flames, hastily beginning to buckle himself back into his pads so he could arrive ready to fly. Suited up and ready to go, he emerged above-ground after pushing his way through the throng of ministry workers and apparated away, hoping that he wouldn't be incorrect to not follow his unsettled intuition. Yet again.

He walked briskly through the corridors after popping into being in front of the main gates of the pitch, waving off the familiar security guards. Eyes trained on the players soaring above as he reached the field, he felt the devil himself sitting on his chest as he noticed a dark figure on an equally dark bristled broom swoop in to descend upon him.

Milanov. Neither tall nor short, fat or thin, he was a wholly unremarkable looking man. His greying hair was neatly tied into a queue, covering a thick scar at the base of his skull from an accident that had ended his career pre-maturely. All in all he didn't look the part of an all-star beater and World Cup class coach, but his enveloping black coaches robes proudly proclaimed otherwise. The glinting stripes on his left arm revealed his mastery, silver for his playing years and and gold for his coaching tenure, all World Cup victories. It was an intimidating record.

His stern face concealed the seething inferno he knew blazed below.

"_Where the hell have you been,_" barked out Milanov, in Bulgarian.

Viktor resisted the urge to give up and prostrate himself on the pitch. "_I have a houseguest, Hermione Granger, and she was assaulted while under my care. I had little choice, sir._"

That was a name Milanov was more than a little familiar with.

He'd known Viktor since he'd been a slip of a boy, barely prepared for the professional career that had been thrust before his wide eyes. He'd been a quiet, severe teenager who hardly said boo when downed by a bludger. He'd watched him win his first International League match, hell, he'd damn near pulled him out of short pants singlehandedly. So when Viktor had returned from Scotland and his older teammates managed to drag the name of his first date out of him, he'd doled out the requisite advice as one professional athlete to another.

That was before he learned that the girl he'd taken to wasn't a quidditch groupy but the Potter boy's best friend. His fatherly intuition told him then that it would be a long and bumpy flight. He had come to learn about the Yule Ball portrait of them both his star seeker kept in his travel bag. He'd been the one to pull Viktor, surly and drunk, from last calls after she'd gone back to Scotland after visiting the boy at home. He was the one who dragged Viktor off to see a healer after beating his fists bloody on a locker when his "friend" had turned to another. He'd watched the boy light up when she began to write to him again after the war. Without ever meeting her, he _knew_ Hermione Granger.

* * *

><p>"We're here!"<p>

"Yes, yes I see that George."

They both stared up at the windows that seemed to stare back at them.

"Still a creepy pile of brick, innit." George shivered, moving to knock on the door.

"I'll second that," muttered Hermione back. She had always felt slightly uneasy upon entering Grimmauld, but she wasn't sure if that had to do with the house itself or that she was always waiting for aurors to be peaking out of the bushes up at her while she waltzed in through the front door. The door clanked, the sound they knew as someone peering outwards without breaching the barrier between inside and out.

Then came a muffled voice from inside."What color underwear did I wear! At the wedding I mean."

George and Hermione stared at each-other.

"Goddammit Ginevra, couldn't you have picked some other tidbit to quiz us on? I'm your brother. I don't want this rattling around my skull. I only have one ear to try and bash it out of now, thank you very much."

"Don't call me Ginevra, George Fabian Weasley!"

"Not the middle name, you know better than to tell people I have a middle name!"

"Pink. You wore lacey pink knickers with matching garters. They were spelled to detatch with a certain," she swallowed a giggle as George began to wretch, rubbing at where his ear used to be, "Phrase." He grabbed at his throat, seizing up as she lost control of her laughter.

George swooned into her arms, "Farewell dear heart, for I must needs be gone!"

"Who in the hell taught you Shakespeare and why."

"There's this odd bird, you see. Told me her name was from some dead blokes play, so I looked it up in the library and read through the only title they had in the stacks." George lightened his words by moaning dramatically, hand on his head as if faint, but his crooked grin gave away his sincerity.

Hermione's expression went from amused and perplexed to heated embarrassment, but Ginny was already opening the door to yank George away from her before she could fully be taken by the breadth of George's statement.

"You don't even know where the library is, you half-wit," Ginny cuffed him, shoving him inside before ushering in Hermione with a softer touch.

"Knickers," replied George, shuddering.

"Prat."

"George, what on earth are you going to do with yourself while we have our girl chat. Knickers may be part of the conversation. One never can tell," Hermione drew out his revulsion, giggling as he whirled away from Ginny, batting at his head while muttering about lace and garters.

"If we can stay on the subject of yours, love, I might stick around," George waggled his eyebrows as Ginny shoved him into the wall so Hermione could walk past.

"Did I hear someone say something about Granger's knickers?" Now there was a voice she hadn't heard in a long while.

Hermione started, stopping dead in her tracks before walking into the parlor to see Draco Malfoy sitting on the settee with a cup of tea, eyes full of laughter.

"Hello Hermione." His voice was warm, low and respectful. It would have been shocking if she hadn't been just on the verge of getting used to the role reversal. His white-blond hair was shaggy as ever, falling into his sharp grey eyes as he peered into his cup.

"How's your mother doing, Draco?"

It had been one of her first projects after moving out of 'trainee healer' and into her own, a restorative to combat the nerve damage caused by the cruciatus. While searching for test subjects deep into its development she'd run across Narcissa Malfoy, widowed and languishing in a St. Mungo's hospital bed with uncontrollable tremors from prolonged exposure. Working with Narcissa, and by extension dealing with a grieving and somewhat lost Draco, had been a brave new world of workplace experiences. By the end of her potions trial Narcissa was cured, Draco's remaining societal reservations were mostly behind him, and so were her own malingering misgivings over their culpability in the events during the war.

"She's much improved for strength. Weeding the inner gardens to her hearts content, the daft woman," he paused, setting down his tea cup down to the table in front of him. "Thank you," he added, softly.

Hermione sat down next to him, leaning in to the pour herself a cup of tea from the service before turning to refill his empty cup for him. When her sleeve slid back, revealing ruddy bruises that encircled her wrist like a debauched tattoo, his darkening eyes shot to her own unknowingly.

"What are you doing here." George eyed him with impatient suspicion, having been little acquainted with the other wizard after the war.

"I'm renegotiating my contract." Ginny rolled her eyes.

"You're what?"

"Renegotiating my contract," she flopped into the armchair she'd obviously been perched in before, holding out her cup for Hermione to refill. "You know, he owns the Harpies?" Ginny herself had made it into the International League, having signed on to the Holyhead Harpies earlier the year before.

"I knew that." George's poorly concealed confusion was contagious in humor, and he scowled as both women giggled incessantly and Draco slightly smirked with his head ducked down into his cup.

"Do you think you can come back later, Draco? I really need to speak to Hermione at the time being."

"I think I can do that." Draco's eyes were once again trained on Hermione, and she shifted uneasily under his scrutiny. He turned to Ginny, "Send me an owl?" he nodded at her affirmation, "good day to you then, ladies. Congratulations once again, Mrs. Potter."

Ginny rose to escort him to the door, pausing with him as he stooped in front of Hermione to salute her hand to his lips, catching her eyes with a searching stare as he hesitated to release her palm. He rose swiftly to follow Ginny, sweeping out of the room with a backwards glance as George glared maliciously after him. George clapped his hands abruptly, rubbing them together as Hermione's cup clattered against her saucer from the unexpected noise.

"I think I'm going to have a quick chat while I'm waiting till' you're done here... with Malfoil Jr."

"Oh George, do be nice. He's not who he used to be."

"Right." He was already headed towards the door, brushing past Ginny as she walked back in to sit next to Hermione for a cuddle.

"What's he up to now?"

"Testosterone, Ginny. Testosterone."

* * *

><p>He wasn't sure whether to cheer that the lad was finally fighting for his prize or bemoan the fact that he would now be battling second string to the chit for his star players focus once again.<p>

"_Who assaulted her?_" It was more curiosity than concern. The girl probably had as many enemies as Viktor himself.

"_Ronald Weasley._" Viktor's whole demeanor transformed; morphing from resigned supplication to tensely reined anger in milliseconds. Ah. The 'other wizard'.

"_I thought he'd been arrested, according to the papers._"

"_He had._" The boys anger was almost magically palpable, hanging heavily in the air around him. He nearly pitied the other wizard the wrath he'd brought down on his own head. Nearly.

Milanov sighed, tweaking his fingers against an eyebrow. "_And just how did you get past the anti-apparition wards on the pitch?_"

Viktor's eyes darted, looking for those nearby before leaning in with his wand to reveal a heavy goblin silver band on his left wrist.

"_Oh._" Well, that was unexpected. "_Oh, my boy."_

"_Coach Milanov, I,_" Viktor was back to stumbling over his words, ever the adolescent in front of his surrogate parent. Milanov decided to spare him the embarrassment and instead gave in to his own burgeoning exasperation.

"_Save it. We'll talk after practice. You've already eaten up a third of it by playing Lancelot to your Guinevere, and we've got an important match at the end of the week. Triple your aerial runs. I want sweat, Krum._"

* * *

><p>Ginny had spent barely five minutes glorying in how wonderful her honeymoon had been before diving into Hermione's situation with an intensity only known by a friend digging deep for sisterly details. She came to one inevitable conclusion.<p>

"I'm confused."

Hermione had given up, head firmly planted in the arm of the settee as Ginny rubbed at her back. She moaned.

"That's exactly what Harry said. _Exactly_."

"Well, I am. I'm sorry."

Hermione whimpered. "Why doesn't this kind of thing come with a manual. Why don't _boys_ come with a manual. I'm so pathetic."

"You're not pathetic. You're bloody Hermione Granger, Boudica of the Second Wizarding War. God help Ron's mortal soul, now _he_ is pathetic."

"I can't believe this is happening to me. I thought I was smarter than this."

"Well, do you love him or is it just convenience?" Ginny asked the question Hermione had been turning over in her head for days, the one she'd been dreading even in the relative comfort of her own thoughts.

Hermione sagged even more. "Which one," she eked out, pitifully.

"Viktor effing Krum, of course! It doesn't matter how much you love my idiot brother, I'm not letting you a pikes distance near him."

"I'd like to stick him with a pike right about now. I don't really think that counts, though."

"Answer the question, dammit."

Silence. She struggled for self honesty, shoving aside her self perceived obligations and any outside perceptions.

"I think I do. God help me, but I think I really do."

"I have to see your band. What does it look like?" Ginny pounced, wand in hand.

* * *

><p>A broom boy ran up, gasping for air, before handing Milanov an immaculate looking custom 'Black Kite', Viktor's preferred racing broom.<p>

"_Sorry, sir, I had to get it out of the storage shed._"

Milanov took it from the boy, eventually shoving it into Viktor's hands after the seeker fumbled to catch the falling broom that had been tossed at him.

"_This isn't my broom._" It was too new, no nicks or groves. The polished surface of the handle was unmarked by wear, and the sweep of its bristles were spiky and even as the day it had been crafted. It bore his name wood burned into the shaft from the manufacturer, showing that it was indeed one of his models, but this was definitely not his regular broom.

"_Your backup. The other one shattered on impact after you dropped it from the top of the damn pitch. Now you'll have to break in a new one before the game. Congratulations._"

Viktor groaned, fisting a hand into his hair to tug at his scalp. Breaking in a new broom was like breaking in a new pair of boots, slightly painful and mostly hobbling. It helped that theirs were customized and tweaked to their own specifications by the manufacturers, a perk of being International League, but that just meant it was only slightly less of an annoyance.

"_Oh glory,_" muttered Viktor, darkly.

"_It's your own damn fault, boy,_" roared Milanov, "_now mount up and get in the air before I snap it and make you use one of Kristich's!_"

He dutifully mounted the broom and shot into the air to start the aerial sequences his body by now could perform without thought. A barrel roll here, a twist there, scraping the outside of the pitch while darting around the other players at breakneck speeds that no longer phased him in the least. Something was off with the brooms handling, he could already feel it. It wasn't sluggish, just.. off. After completing his first run, he paused to break out his wand and do some tinkering. Moving himself out of the way of his teammates doing their own drills, he shifted to reach for his buttoned wand pocket. Adjustments had to be done while flying so one could fine tune to how the broom reacted in the air, an art well honed by every professional player. The moment he pulled his wand, the broom began to shudder.

Riding high on an updraft mid-pitch, Viktor plummeted.

* * *

><p>Ginny had set upon finding out anything and everything Hermione had done with Viktor in the last few days, drinking in the information with rapt attention. All it did was increase Hermione's already guilty conscience, something that Ginny wholeheartedly refused to accept. To her mind, Ron had erased himself from the Weasley roles much as Percy had during the war; he was getting what he deserved for his actions.<p>

Then Hermione's wrist slowly began to ache, the band on her left hand heating to an uncomfortably warm and then barely tolerable temperature.

"Ginny," gasped Hermione, startling her friend as she bolted upright on the sofa, "Ginny, something's wrong."

Ginny's startled look turned into confusion as Hermione stumbled from the couch, grabbing her cloak and satchel together before hastily dressing herself against the cold.

"I need to get home. Or," Hermione gasped as the crawling pain up her arm intensified, "my arm's on fire. My bracelet's on fire. Something's wrong."

"Viktor. Somethings happened to Viktor," Ginny shot up to take Hermione's arm, pointing to her betrothal band, "I've heard about these things. All you need to do is concentrate on Viktor and then apparate. It'll take you right to him."

"Apparate? Apparate where? I bloody well don't know where he is! I've never been to the practice pitch," Hermione's voice held a tinge of hysteria, "I'll splich myself!"

"No you won't! That's not how," Ginny sighed, abandoning the thought, "in that case you needn't bother, I've been there before for a pre-season exhibition match with the Harpies. Let's go."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Well. That didn't take too long, thankfully. Hopefully I'm not moving things along too quickly. Thanks for all of your support, everyone!


	11. Chapter 11

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Eleven**

The air crackled around them, snapping them both forward to stand in front of an older looking bare bones pitch. The brick facade was pitted with age, though neither woman noticed much really as they searched for the main gate.

Quickly walking inside, they were immediately intercepted by security.

"_Do you have a visitors pass?_"

"What's he saying?" Ginny nudged Hermione in askance.

"I can't figure it out, my Bulgarian's terrible," she muttered back. "English? Erm, angliiski ezik?"

"_Shit. Foreigners._" Hermione bit back a hysterical giggle as she recognized his words. Of course she could only translate the extraneous instead of the necessary in such a situation. The guard raised his wand to his throat, speaking loudly. "_Hey Veneva, I've got two English visitors for you at the front gate._"

Another uniformed guard cracked into their huddle, examining them with a skeptical eye.

"Do you haff visitors pass?"

"We don't, but I'm on the list for Viktor Krum."

The guards looked at each-other. Hermione resisted hexing both of them and running for it as the English speaking guard sighed before pulling out a thick booklet.

* * *

><p>Viktor swallowed a scream, instead opting for a torrent of curses muttered under his breath. Fetisov wasn't nearly as self contained.<p>

"_Fucking shit cocking, bollocks_!" He let out a pained bellow as one of the teams medics attempted to rotate his arm back into place. "_Are you trying to fucking pull it off or make it better?_" Hissed the Russian through clenched teeth.

"_I'm sorry, Slava,_" moaned Viktor, gritting his teeth as the teams head healer maneuvered him onto his side with his wand to apply the magical equivalent to an epidural.

"_Shit, ah, ah fuck._" Slava craned his neck to the side to take in Viktor, who was much, much worse off than himself. "_Not like it's your fault, son._"

Viacheslav Fetisov had seen brooms fail before, but never quite so spectacularly. The older wizard, an over the hill veteran by quidditch standards, had barely been able to race over as he watched Viktor drop into a dead free-fall and had managed a lucky grab at the back of his jersey before the seeker hit the ground full force. The full stop to Viktor's acceleration had wrenched Slava's arm out of it's socket, causing him to drop Viktor the extra feet left down to the grass below. It wasn't a gentle descent, by any means, but at least it had been survivable.

Viktor's legs had crumpled underneath him like matchsticks, and he was certain that he'd seen bone white poking from a trouser leg before the healer had immobilized him as a precaution. He was honestly surprised he hadn't passed out from the shock or pain. He'd taken some pretty horrendous tumbles over the years, but he was relatively certain this was probably the worst of his career injuries. The war years had only served to increase his already high tolerance for physical discomfort, something that didn't really work into his favor at the time being.

"_I'm going to have to take you to the hospital. I can't fix this,_" intoned the healer, a man he'd never liked.

"_Really?_" He couldn't resist the biting sarcasm, and the wizard fixed him with a nasty glare before jabbing about his bruised upper extremities with a relentless wand. Viktor cursed with abandon.

* * *

><p>One of the guards had eventually located Hermione's name on Viktor's list of 'acceptable visitors', and they'd been ushered towards the stands. That was before Ginny noticed the commotion on the pitch.<p>

"Isn't Viktor number seven?" Ginny's face was grim as she peered into the distance at the man lying with his back to the stands.

"Oh God." Hermione was frozen for a moment before Ginny grabbed her by the hand, dragging her down towards an entrance onto the centre circle. The guards, who had waited at the top row of the stands, shouted and ran after them, but were ignored.

Both women could tell it was bad before they made it close enough to tell what shape he was in. Blood was thick in the air, and the ground underneath where he lay was drenched in it. Hermione could make out a tourniquet around his right leg as the man hovering over him turned him onto his back. The healer in Hermione shrieked to attention, then they were both cut off by team members who had crowded around the scene.

"_What are you doing here?_" "_Who are you?_" "_Get off the field!_"

They were both inundated with a slurry of Bulgarian, as Hermione attempted to explain in her own halting use of the language who they were and who they'd come to see. Finally, Hermione lost her temper.

"Viktor **Bloody** Krum!" she shouted, and she heard the crowd turn to his voice as he shouted back.

"_Let the witch through, you dimwitted bastards!_"

A wall of crimson gave way for her to see Viktor, lying on his back with both broken legs splayed jaggedly before him next to another player who sat hunched over, both attended by healers. She quickly walked up to kneel by his side, assessing the situation with a clinical eye. He was alert and obviously under pain management, but the state his legs were in was critical.

"Oh, Viktor." This was why Hermione couldn't stand to come watch his games, other than boredom and lack of interest. Every close call, especially the techniques that had made him famous, made her think of him broken and bleeding just as he was now.

"Hermione, is not bad as it looks," he tried to smile and sit up, but it turned into a pained grimace. The healer barked at him, pushing him back down. He interrupted her before she could tell him what utter nonsense he was peddling, "Ve get ready to apparate to hospital. You come, da?"

She nodded her head, leaning in to grasp at his hand as he dug his fingers into the ground when the healer began to shift his shoulder. He called out to one of the men in the crowd, letting go of her hand to gesture at the two women as he spoke. Ginny steadied her, pulling her away from Viktor as she realized the situation. The healer began to levitate Viktor, who rasped with pain and mumbled curses while biting at his lip. The other injured player was helped up and began to walk with them, yelling profanities at the medic who took him by the arm. Hermione nearly blushed at their rather imaginative phrase work.

Hermione let loose a startled gasp as a hand settled on her shoulder, turning to a black robed man who stood beside her.

"Georgi Milanov," introduced the greying wizard, wasting no time, "Head Coach. I'll apparate you both."

"Thank you. Thank you very much," managed Hermione, as they followed Viktor's prone form out of the pitch. "But I think I'll be going by myself." She turned in her friends grasp to look into the red head's worried face.

"You don't need to stay, Ginny."

Ginny shot her a look as they slowly began to move their way up the few short rows of seating behind the two injured men. "Right, like this is just peachy keen. You look white as a sheet."

"I'll be fine. You just got back from abroad, I'm sure you've got a list of things to do other than sit in a hospital with me going stir crazy. _And_ you're supposed to be over at the burrow for dinner tonight."

Ginny let out an exasperated huff, "Fine, but only because Mum would skin me like a newt for skipping out. You promise to owl me if you need me?"

"I promise. You're a good friend, Ginny." Hermione's eyes were trained on Viktor's dripping leg. Whatever spell the healer had used to patch him together for transport had shifted and he'd begun to bleed through the bandages.

Ginny shook her head. "We've both seen worse. He'll be right as rain."

"I hope the hospital is a damn sight better than the team medic, I'll say that much."

Hermione heard the man escorting them snicker.

* * *

><p>Hermione hovered in the doorway as the two men shouted at each-other, unwilling to get in between the wand waving match. Figuratively, not literally. Obviously she was not involved in the conversation, since Coach Milanov made it a point to stop and bow over her hand with platitudes on the way out before yelling back a thundering parting call to Viktor, who hissed and spat from his hospital bed like a bent out of shape kneazle. He was still visibly fuming as she plunked herself down in the armchair she'd transfigured as they worked on him earlier.<p>

He'd had to have reconstructive spellwork done, removing the bone to start from scratch while making sure to extract all the left over bone fragments. His upper torso was bruised and battered, but the main damage had been done to his legs and right collar bone. His shattered femur had all but torn apart his right leg. All told, from what she'd managed to glean from Coach Milanov, he was lucky to be alive from the distance he'd fallen. God bless Slava Fetisov. The older teammate had come in to wish Viktor well minutes earlier after having been patched up himself, and she'd gotten to kiss to his cheek and tearfully thank the embarrassed man for stopping Viktor from becoming a messy quidditch robed splatter against the field.

"What was that all about."

Viktor pinned her with a glare before his eyes softened, leaning back to stare at the whitewashed ceiling.

"I think somevone fuck vith my broom. Coach think I'm idiot boy. And I fuck up his lineup for next match."

Hermione couldn't contain her snort. Viktor glared at her again, and she giggled, dragging her chair closer to the bed so she could work the snarls out of his sweat damp hair.

"Why would anyone jinx your broom?"

"I don't know." They fell into silence as Viktor hummed, painfully shifting his shoulders against his nest of pillows so she could reach more of his curls.

"Stop that. I know it hurts. You wouldn't take your potion, don't think I didn't notice."

"It makes me feel," he searched, "like crazy person."

"Well too bad. You're taking it."

"Bossy vitch," he accused, fondly. "If I do, you must lay down, yes?" He was bartering with her again. Always with the bartering.

"I can't. I'll hurt your legs, you prat. Now take the potion."

"No you von't. I can't feel a damn thing from vaist down. Look like you could fall offer." He reached up with his good arm to tilt her chin with a broad finger, examining the shadows under her eyes. "Now promise, mila."

"Maybe." She pressed the potion on him.

"Maybe?" He grimaced at the smell after uncorking it.

"Likely, maybe." He swallowed, tossing the vial onto the bedside counter before pulling her into the narrow bed as she squeaked. They twisted, Hermione scooting around to ease off of her aching arm while avoiding his magically splinted legs as Viktor settled her into his good shoulder.

"Now you tell Viktor vhat troubles you."

"Other than Ron being Ron?"

"Vhatever." He really didn't want to talk about Ron, but he did need to get whatever was hanging over her out in the open. She'd closed up while forcing herself to sit through his surgery, something he was sure must have been hard for her to watch as a fellow healer.

She stroked his cheek, pulling her fingers against his stubble as his breath whispered against her palm.

"I guess I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Look at us. Neither one of us can keep out of trouble."

"Shoe drop?" Viktor's lips pursed as turned over the phrase in his head. He shook his already foggy head.

"Something terrible to happen. Though, I guess this counts," she laughed, softly. "I think I just keep expecting for you to pull a Ron."

"I vould neffer..." she cut his stern words off with a fingers on his lips.

"I don't mean like that. I mean realizing what a bother I am and leaving off. All I seem to do is cause you trouble. Or having you," she paused unsteadily, "you dying on me or something. Watching you fly has always terrified me. And then this happens."

"He left me. Everyone eventually leaves," she swallowed heavily, "even you."

"Left you." He acknowledged with his voice low and dark, pain crawling through his chest where his heart should have been. Ron, her parents, her friends. Suddenly it all made brilliant, horrifying sense. "I left you." He choked, drawing her further into his arms as much he could to whisper into her hair. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

"No, no no no," she babbled, as his potion addled brain misunderstood. "Viktor, I didn't mean before. You couldn't help leaving before. I just worry. Quidditch is so dangerous."

"I didn't vant to leaf you before, mila. And I von't now." He blinked slowly trying to recapture his train of thought back from the dark trail it had wandered down. "There should haff been fail-safe on broom. Somevone must have podpraven vith metla. Shibani kopeleta."

"Some things are beyond our control." She smiled as he fought against the potions call, rubbing his cheek lazily against her own. She ran light fingers across his hospital pajamaed chest to straighten his shirt, watching guiltily as his bruised pectoral tensed under the thin material and wrapped bandages. "Now go to sleep."

"Smurtta nikoga nqma da ni razdeli."

* * *

><p>Viktor <em>ached<em>. Everywhere. He'd refused to take any more pain potion, not wanting to spend the rest of his stay dozing or half conscious. It felt as if his skin was trying to separate from his body, taking half his musculature with it. And that was leaving out the state of his legs. The only upside to the situation was that Hermione had taken over applying his bruise balm for the nurses, meaning full half-body rub downs without a shirt to get in the way of skin to skin contact. It was like playing a tame version of seven minutes in heaven, minus the kissing and with the addition of a great deal of pain. She was slowly turning him into a masochist. One dose at a time.

Luckily he'd had his shirt on, Hermione sitting in her chair at his bedside, when his parents had dropped by. It had been a pleasant, if rather awkward reunion. Though his parents were more than aware of Viktor's designs on Hermione, he'd neglected to tell them that she'd been staying with him. A short and uncomfortable conversation ensued as he explained a brief and cursory shorthand version of their situation that left most of the truth flapping in the wind. That was before his mother had dissolved into tears at Viktor's condition and his father had taken the opportunity of her distraction to dig more deeply into his flimsy explanation.

Dimitri Krum was tall and dark, an eery copy of his much younger son. Viktor had been a late in life child for his parents, Ivanka a near miracle, so their likeness was made all the more startling by their age difference. A distinguishing difference between the two men were Dimitri's strikingly blue eyes. Viktor had inherited his mothers own dark hazel orbs, at times a glinting black. But the similarity between the two was such that they often were mistaken for brothers rather than father and son. Both of the elder Krums were well preserved, aging in that peculiar way wizards do upon hitting their mid-twenties.

Currently his mother was busy sobbing against Hermione as the younger woman attempted to console the matron, cajoling her into sitting down in the rooms single armchair in order to look over his chart. It was more than enough to get Viktor to crack a smile as Hermione shot him a long suffering look of loving exasperation. He didn't know who to pity more. Momma Krum sniffled, patting at Hermione's hand as the healer held his clipboard in front of them, leaning over the armrest as she explained the procedures and his current condition. Stout, heart faced and forever fretting, Nadezhada was soft where his father was stoic and hardened.

"_How is your woman?_" His father's eyes were trained on the two witches as he sat hunched on Viktors bed, watching his wife begin to collect herself before starting in on the inevitable interrogation to do with Hermione's own state.

He'd never been able to lie convincingly to his father. Viktor cursed, inwardly. "_She's been in danger._"

They kept their voices low, unassuming, trying to keep the women from noticing the nature of their conversation.

"_I gathered as much. What do you plan to do about it, boy._"

Viktor studied his father's closed face, trying to read the small telltale flickers of expression in his quiet manner.

"_We're bonded._"

Sharp eyes studied an empty wrist before shifting bemusedly back to his face.

"_It's complicated._"

The older wizard sighed, rubbing tiredly at his dark, full beard.

"_I trust your judgment, but do try to to keep your limbs intact next time. You'll give your mother grey hair._"

He placed a still hand on his sons brow, so like his own, before moving to step around the bed to speak to Hermione and Nadezhada. His mother's sandy blond hair was unmarked by time, however many times his father had warned him over the years.

"_Father,_" Dimitri stopped, moving back to lean in as Viktor gestured for him to come closer. "_I need you to get the broom I'd been using from the practice pitch and check to see if anyone tampered with it. Don't tell Momma._"

Something flickered in his old mans eyes, but he shook his head in affirmation before turning away. The worry of foul play was eating away at Viktor, and he'd take all the help he could get. He didn't want to be right, but he'd rather be right than dead the next time something happened.

* * *

><p><strong>Translations:<strong> "Somevone must have _tampered_ vith _broom_. _Fucking bastards_." "_Smurtta nikoga nqma da ni razdeli"_ - Death can't part us. Heaps of thanks on Ziminar, who re-translated that bit for me so that it actually made sense.

**Author's Note: **It's.. eh, difficult to try and work around the language issues. So let me know if the transition between Bulgarian and English through the different formats (italics, phonetic) is too hard to follow.

Please please tell me if my translations are awry. There isn't much in the way of a good free English-Bulgarian dictionary on the web and I'm too cheap to buy my own XD

Also, I can't tell you how flattered I am to have repeat reviewers. It's like having good friends checking in on you!


	12. Chapter 12

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Twelve**

They'd made him stay overnight in the dreary little room, much to his displeasure. He'd attempted to talk the healers into letting him go home with Hermione attending, but the head healer had staunchly refused. He'd looked down his not inconsequential nose and driven Hermione into a fury despite the fact that she'd agreed with him in not moving their patient. She hadn't wanted to move him for fear of his healing bones shifting, the head healer hadn't trusted Hermione to treat a patient. They'd quite understandably not seen eye to eye.

Both of them spent the long, boring day sorting through legal documents necessary for Hermione's court case, something that in truth neither of them genuinely wished to work on but Viktor attacked with relish in the contemplation of watching Ronald Weasley committed to Azkaban for an extended vacation. His arraignment was in two days, barely giving them any time to pull a case together. Hermione had pilfered several legal books from Harry's office during her visit, and she frantically tried to absorb as much as possible in preparation for her first day in court. Wizarding Law was confusing, arbitrary and downright contradictory in many areas, as she was finding out the hard way.

Before they knew it, night was upon them, and arrangements needed to be made. On his insistence they'd brought in an extra bed for Hermione to stay with him overnight. Hermione had thought to perch in the armchair to sleep, and he would rather have had her in his own bed, but propriety had necessitated the extra mattress. Viktor certainly wasn't about to let her out of his sight for the time being, so she would stay. Not that she'd fussed about the arrangement. She been in full healer mode, monitoring every potion and attentively marking down his progression to full health.

It had been torment, her sleeping body nestled no more than a few feet away as she tossed and turned next to him, his teeth clamping down on his lips as he writhed in near agony as his tendons and ligaments re-knit themselves over fresh bone. Sensitive new skin burned under the rough wrappings they were bound in, but he still would have given much in the world for the peace of mind of having her pressed against him as he intermittently passed in and out of consciousness throughout the night.

He woke to her brushing his dark locks out of his face, softly dabbing a cool cloth against his sweat damp brow. He felt out of breath, though all he'd done was lay in bed as a night nurse poured potions down his gullet at two hour intervals.

"Morning, loff." Her hair was wild, robes rumpled from sleep. She looked... his desire stirred.

"Good morning, Icarus."

His lip curled at the subtle insult, though guilt bubbled up underneath it. It seemed that she was indeed still upset about his injuries, as she often was. Few things frightened her more with him than seeing her loved ones injured, as he now understood. Vividly.

He reached up with his slowly healing and stiff right arm, stretching while he tugged at her loose curls while letting his smile grow as she huffed in mock protest. Then she reached up, drawing the sheets back with a snap to examine his legs. Revenge. His body shivered at the cold air suddenly buffeting his sleep warm body, trying to curl in on itself.

"_Mamka mu._"

"Language." She beamed, wickedly. "Well, I guess that means it still hurts."

Viktor scowled, and she gently began to prod at his worse off right leg.

"It's healing up quite nicely for all that your beastly team medic tried to set it wrong. Twit should have his license revoked." Hermione's wand was flicking through diagnostic spells at an unholy rate before she ended her appraisal of his condition with a strong cleansing spell, tucking the sheets back around his weary body. "The nurse on call said they'll be sending you up some breakfast soon, by the way."

"Vhat about you?" He frowned.

"I'm not really all that hungry. I'll get something in a little bit." Her stomach chose that exact moment to announce itself in comic disagreement as it loudly gurgled, and she blushed a pretty shade of chartreuse.

Viktor flicked his wand to summon the nurse to ask for a second portion, but when she arrived she'd already brought his steaming... food. The apathetic looking woman prodded his pillows, helping him to prop himself up in order to eat before leaving. Both of them eyed the tray set on his lap with wary resignation before Viktor finally pushed it towards Hermione's growling stomach.

"Eat."

"I hate hospital food even more than you do. I work in a hospital. Or did you forget?"

"You're more hungry. Eat."

"This is a nutritionally balanced meal made specifically for you, Viktor. Look, it has spinach for your iron count and," Viktor cleared his throat and she sighed, spooning into the unidentifiable meat dish before opting to take a bit of spinach. "Why is it that everything good for you in a hospital has to taste terrible, even in the wizarding world. You'd think they could make everything taste like chocolate if magic was so great." She chewed slowly, grimacing in disgust. Swallowing, she dug her spoon in for a second go, unwilling to waste good food.

Her slackening hand dropped the spoon before it reached her mouth.

"Hermione," Viktor puffed a quick laugh and went to grab her napkin, shaking his head in amusement at the green mess she'd made down the front of her robes. "It can't be that bad."

His band burned. Then the tray dropped off her lap as her body followed suit. "_Hermione!_"

Struggling against his weak and shaking upper body, he dragged her against the bed as he bellowed for a healer. He was working to get her up onto mattress, legs shifting in excruciating pain when Hermione began to convulse. Abandoning any care for himself he heaved her into the bed with him, holding her down as she shook violently while he hollered spells to keep her from swallowing her tongue and diagnostics at the obviously tainted food.

A healer and nurse raced through the doorway just in time for him to have narrowed down the toxin rushing through her suffering body.

"_It's an Essential Oil Poison. Get me a Bezoar. __**NOW.**_"

The healer stuttered, watching the witch seize before he pushed the nurse into the hallway, yelling for her to get a broad-spectrum antidote as he attacked an emergency kit that hung on the wall. Retrieving the life saving brown stone, Viktor held her clenched jaw open and the panicked wizard shoved it down her throat and hoped that it hadn't come too late. Tears began to stream down Hermione's face as the Bezoar worked to flush the toxins from her body.

Viktor choked on his own while rocking her unresponsive body in his arms.

* * *

><p>He stared sightlessly out the darkening window as the Bulgarian aurors began to shuffle their way out of the room, focusing on the discomforting warmth of his betrothal band. They'd questioned him before gathering the evidence, leaving samples for him to give to Harry whenever he arrived with a British team of aurors after having been owled by the Bulgarian team at Viktor's request. He'd downed a mild pain potion after fighting with the hospital staff to let him sit by her bedside. It was nearly the only thing keeping him upright at the moment. He was nearly healed and couldn't be bothered to worry over the appearance given by his need to hover over her half dead body. One did not argue with Viktor Krum in his current state.<p>

So there he sat, an hour or so after managing to rise from his own sick bed only to rest by Hermione's in a well padded wheelchair, stroking her small, cold hand.

The healer had administered the broad-spectrum potion before asking him what she'd been eating before she'd collapsed, racing a small portion of it to the hospitals laboratory. He'd come back twenty minutes later with a vial of antidote and an answer: Wintergreen. A deadly cocktail of Wintergreen. Innocuous in small doses but vile in the amounts administered in his personalized 'healthy meal'.

"How are you holding up, Krum?" A firmly planted hand descended onto his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. Ordinarily hyper-vigilant, he hadn't noticed the other wizard as he entered the room.

He didn't even bother to respond, instead he pressed a kiss into her palm as he stared at her ashen face.

Harry dragged the abandoned armchair over before sitting down next to the injured wizard, swallowing with difficulty as he leaned over to kiss Hermione's clammy cheek.

"I talked to Boris and Natasha, then did some interviews of my own with a translator." His voice was low and even, as if he was afraid of setting him off. In reality, Viktor had settled quite easily into a numbing silence. "From everything that we've gathered, the nurse that delivered your food had been Imperiused. She dosed your food with the poison after it'd been sent up from the kitchens."

"Vhere is she now." Even his voice sounded hollow. Harry looked away from the other wizard's eyes to focus on Hermione's shallow breathing.

"Dead. We found her body in a field out back. Killing Curse, untraceable."

Viktor closed his eyes, unwilling to understand how deeply things had sunk, drawing circles around Hermione's knuckles with his thumb.

"We're going to try and track whoever set this up through the individual potion ingredients, but most of the ones we're thinking were used in it are pretty common. I'm putting my best potions man on it."

Losing hope, Viktor shook his head, leaning in to hunch over Hermione's body close enough to feel the warming spells they'd placed over her in order to stabilize her body temperature.

"We're going to find them." Harry's voice had gone gruff, gravel and pain as he ached along with Viktor's ailing soul. "I don't care what it takes. We're going to find them."

"My broom was jinxed." Viktor spoke at full volume for the first time since Hermione had quit breathing and a team of healers had labored feverishly for minutes to restart her heart. He locked eyes with Harry. "I vas certain of it, no accident from the vay it failed. Take the floo to Kŭshta na Drevnite Krum and ask for Dimitri Krum. My father collected the broom for study."

"I need to know if anything else out of the ordinary has happened. Anything else you can think of," pushed Harry, latching on the idea that this might not have been a single attempt.

"Noffing I can think of."

"When she wakes up we're going to need to sit down and create a time-line, see if we can match anything else up that will give us a lead."

Viktor hummed his approval before turning back to Hermione, grimacing as the pain potion began to wear off.

Harry shut the door behind him, leaving the Bulgarian to haunt the quiet room by himself.

* * *

><p>"Viktor...," her voice was small and thready, shaking him from a light sleep as he'd dozed off by her side.<p>

The room was dark now, daylight long gone having left only a few candles to offer a flickering view of Hermione's confused features. His mother had come to feed him, unwilling to trust his stomach to the hospital yet again despite the presence of an auror standing guard to vet anything going out or coming into their private room. He'd barely been able to choke down half the meal, setting the rest aside for dinner as he guiltily watched a nurse magically nourish her still body.

He leaned in to take her hand in his own yet again, folding himself against her as he brushed her cheek with the trembling fingers of his other softly.

"What happened?" She sounded so tired, so disoriented that his heart twisted in his chest. He'd come so close to... He opted for honesty rather than shielding her from the truth.

"Somevone poisoned the food." He soothed her upper lip as it twisted in confusion, her glassy eyes fearful.

"Who...?"

Viktor shook his head, gripping her hand as she shifted in the bed.

"How long was I out?" She lifted her other hand to rub at her throat, soothing the ache that remained from having choked down a Bezoar, not that she remembered doing such a thing.

"Most of the day." He didn't want to tell her what had occurred. It had been hard enough to watch.

"How are you? You shouldn't be sitting up yet."

He laughed, a harsh and somber chuckle at her selflessness. She'd been _poisoned_, and she was still worrying about him instead of herself.

"I'm fine, loff. Do you need a healer?"

"No, I'm alright." She blinked, lazily, causing Viktor's stomach to flip over itself. He moved to finger his wand in case she relapsed. "Just a little cold. You should lay down, Viktor, you're putting too much strain on your leg."

He gave in to the overwhelming tightness in his chest to let a clutch of tears quietly roll down his face, and a startled Hermione went to brush them away with a clumsy hand. He latched on to her palm, pressing it to his lips as he sucked in air raggedly.

"I almost lost you," he whispered against her fingers. "Right in front of me, and I still almost lost you."

Hermione reached up with her other arm, leaden weights the both of them, and pulled him down to press his forehead to her own. His face was wet between her hands, hair brushing against her shaking fingertips that had been dulled by the toxins still coursing through her veins.

"It's not your fault, Viktor."

"It is. This vas meant for me, not you. I vas supposed to be keeping you safe, not putting you in more danger."

"It could have been meant for me, Viktor, you don't know that. I have just as many enemies, if not more. You always forget that I'm enemy mudblood number one. This could all be because we've been seen together lately."

He could tell by her tormented expression that the possibility was at the forefront of her mind. Anger stirred in his blood again and his restraint shattered at the slur against her own self worth.

Viktor dipped his head in to capture her lips in a kiss so passionate that it was more like a brand than a caress. He parted her mouth, slipping into her with abandon as she moaned sweetly against his embrace, fueling his own fierce growl as her hands tangled in his hair to press him further into herself. The kiss turned languid, slowly exploring one another and Viktor traced the seam of her lips with his tongue before moving to lave at her pale throat, tenderly, as she gasped underneath him.

"_Neffer_ call yourself that again, mila." His voice belied his actions, hard and angry to his gentle ministrations.

He sat up, vanishing the second bed and enlarging her own before painfully crawling in to lay next to her. She moved to curl onto her side, breathing deeply to contain her own discomfort as her innards shifted and her muscles burned, and slowly they came to rest against one another. Viktor rubbed at her arms and back, pushing his own heat into her skin as she finally warded off the cold left by her brush with the beyond. She'd shoved her hands under Viktor's shirt, stealing his heat as he'd shivered to the feel of her nails dragging against his overly sensitive skin. Viktor himself pressed kisses into her hair as he grit his teeth to twine his aching legs with her own, swallowing his own moan as he brushed against her.

"I'm going to find out who did this. And then I'm going to make you mine."

Hermione shuddered at the feel of his words rumbling out of his chest against her, breathing deeply to clear her tired head. She had so many questions, so many thoughts tumbling through her racing mind and not enough energy to bring them into focus. So instead she gave herself up to contentment in Viktor's strong arms, wondering at how she'd ever strayed from his side in the first place.

* * *

><p><strong>Translations: <strong>"Mamka mu. [fuck]" " Kŭshta na Drevnite Krum [house of the ancient Krum]"

**Author's Notes:** Well. My, aren't things getting dark. I have a rather disturbing love of tormenting my favorite characters, mainly because I think it brings out the best in them. Conversely, it makes asses of the ones I really hate as well, so, that goes along with it too. I dearly hate several main characters in this series, so, it's rather difficult for me not to toy with them when possible.

Points to anyone who is guessing where I'm pulling half of the names I've made up in the last two chapters from, hint: moose and squirrel + sport of canuckland. Ah, nostalgia.


	13. Chapter 13

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Thirteen**

The young nurse gasped, settling the breakfast tray quickly on the counter before rushing out of the room, waking Viktor from a dead sleep. It looked like any cover would be blown, not that it mattered to him. She'd shifted in her sleep to lie half on top of him, face nestled against the open 'v' of his hospital issue pajamas. He curled his chin to take in her placid face before easing back down to bask in the morning sun. He lifted a lazy hand to stroke at her back, working the pins and needles of sleep loose.

His unconscious motions froze when she sighed, hands digging into his shirt as she shifted, slowly waking up. Viktor cursed his wandering hands. Glancing up at the clock told him it was still the crack of dawn, and from the course of events the night before she should have been sleeping as much as possible.

"Mmmm.." She began to stroke the curling hair on his uncovered chest as he sucked in a breath, digging his fingers into the sheets. Then she stilled, moving her hand before clearing her throat. Viktor's stomach dropped as he tensed, waiting for her to say something, hoping to God she remembered the night before. Poisonings often were accompanied by amnesia or at least blank spots of memory of all events occurring during the time of affliction. He wasn't sure if he could go back to only friendly affection after their passionate embrace.

"What time is it?" Viktor let go of the breath he'd been holding onto as she didn't recoil, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Too early yet, go back to sleep, kote."

She groaned, stretching against him. He swiftly bit his tongue, reigning himself in.

"You know I won't be able to get back to sleep now."

"Then vhe get you potion after you eat somefhing." He smoothed her brow at her troubled expression. "Somefhing good to eat this time." She quirked a smile. He shifted himself out from under her, picking her up to move her further up on the pillows as she swatted at him.

"That was completely unnecessary." She huffed, glaring at him as he shuffled unsteadily over to the tray, twirling his wand.

After examining the food thoroughly, despite it more than likely having been checked by the ever rotating auror bodyguard, he shuffled back towards the bed. Plopping down into the armchair, he ate a bit of each dish before passing the tray over to Hermione.

"What, are you going to be my food taster now?" Hermione eyed him with amusement before tucking into her porridge and apples.

"Ne. Vhipping boy."

Hermione rolled her eyes before she attempted to swallow more food. "Ugh. I feel like someone turned my stomach inside out.

"I fink you vomited enough to do so," replied Viktor, dryly. "Can't belief they're letting you eat already, but the healer last night said to feed you this morning and see if you keep it down."

"I'm not sure yet." She swallowed half a spoonful making a wretched face. "Could be worse. For muggles, they pour liquid charcoal down your gob to absorb the poison and make you vomit everything back up. You spend the whole night vomiting up the bottom of a barbeque grill."

Viktor mimed retching and Hermione smiled.

"What did they get me with, anyway?"

"Vhintergreen." His dark eyes were trained on the window, gazing out as he slouched to stretch out his legs.

"Wintergreen? Well, that's different. I thought that one fell out of fashion in the late eighteen-hundreds. It takes months to distill."

"Is hard to trace because of the ingredients."

"Yes, but, there are dozens of potions that have difficult to trace ingredients that are far less complex and time consuming to make. It's... odd." She was speaking so matter of factly. Viktor rubbed at his sore shoulder, nearly looking forward to the horrible tasting brew the would set his muscles to rights.

Hermione chewed, thoughtfully, before handing off the rest of the tray to Viktor, who began to finish the rest of the meal off. Afterwards he lurched himself up, setting the tray aside to grab a parchment and quill from a small lapdesk on a corner table, scribbling out a note as Hermione groaned and clutched at her stomach. He opened the door, passing it to the auror standing guard.

"What was that about?" Panted Hermione as he sat down at the head of the bed to rub at her back.

"Potter vanted to talk to you vonce you voke up."

"Harry's working this?" This wasn't his jurisdiction, technically.

"He's vorking vith the Bulgarian aurors. I ask for him to cover it too, you are British vitch so is legal." Viktor shrugged. "I trust him to vork harder."

Which was understandable. Between the fostering at Durmstrang and it's general size - small – the wizarding legal system in Bulgaria had a tendency to be more easily bought and sold.

It took a half an hour or so, and in walked Harry, resplendent in a menacing looking leather coat and black military slacks. He looked every inch the hardened auror; until you got down to his grubby red converse trainers. He was only mildly taken back by the scene he had walked into.

Viktor was holding her hair back as Hermione heaved into a basin, both sitting on the edge of the bed, pressing a compress to her forehead with his opposite hand. He turned away, going a bit green himself in sympathy, and when he looked back Hermione had settled back against the pillows with a glass of water.

"Should I come back later?" Harry winced.

Hermione waved him off with a shaking hand, sipping at a glass of water. "No, no let's get down to business."

So they started in, with tedium. Harry, quill in hand, taking notes on their every move for the past two weeks, then nearly a month back in Viktor's case. He'd had to beg an International League schedule off of one of the orderlies to look at the dates as a reference of events, and even then most of the games seemed to run together after playing for so many years. It took nearly two hours. Hermione had to down a nausea fighting draught to make it through the first hour, and by the end of the information gathering session Viktor finally gave in and called a nurse for some muscle relaxants.

Harry finally set aside the quill, cracking his knuckles as he soothed his cramped digits. He eyed his roughly outlined time-line wearily, hoping it would yield more than the dead ends he'd already chased down.

"Did you get my broom from my father?" Viktor had camped out on the now familiar armchair, rubbing wearily at his right leg.

"Yeah. You were right, someone did a number on it. It'd been spelled to drop you when you made adjustments on it's handling."

Viktor grunted, gratified that it hadn't been his own incompetence that had him regrowing his bones and tottering around like he was a centenarian.

"Here's the rub, your buddy Kuzminski? He rides a Black Kite. Same model as you, too." Viktor had gone still, thoughts racing to the conclusion he was dearly hoping would be incorrect. "His tumble during the Harpies game was no accident. His broom had been hexed to attract bludgers like flies to honey. I'm shocked he made it that long during the game."

Viktor felt guilt descend on him even more heavily.

"We lucked out. One of your broom boys' been keeping broken game play brooms to sell behind your equipment manager's back, he'd held on to Kuzminski's to make a tidy sum and when we found out he used the same model broom we managed to track it down on a hunch.

There's something else. Boris and Natasha neglected to cross check the muggle papers for anything conspicuous, but I had them go over the last couple of weeks for me after I took lead. There's something that matches up. There was a suicide bombing in Sofia the day you two went shopping."

Hermione's blood ran cold, remembering Viktor dragging her away to apparate back to the house on pure instinct. She shook her head.

"Where?" She asked, mouth dry.

"The old section, in an open air market. I can't pronounce it, but," Harry handed off his notes to Viktor, who scanned the Cyrillic before nodding and handing them back.

"Oh my god... How many?"

"Five killed besides the bomber, twelve injured. Two of the dead were children." Harry's face was stoic, but how he clenched his hands around his notes gave him away.

Hermione groped for Viktor's hand, and he grasped it firmly between his own.

"On another note," Harry shifted uncomfortably, "err... are you able to make it to the arraignment tomorrow? I can ask for a continuance if you'd like me to."

"No, I'll be well enough by then. I'd rather just get it done and over with." The healer had said her residual nausea and weakness would be gone by the next day, though she herself knew that she'd more than likely be tired and achy for the next few days. It would probably work in her favor, or so she hoped, to look as pitiable as she did currently.

"I'll send along one of my men to escort you to and from the ministry then. I'm not taking any chances."

"Alright then."

He nodded, leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek before gathering his things to leave. A nurse walked in to drop off a sleeping draught, and Harry eyed it speculatively. He took it from the witch, examining it with his wand and eye before handing it over to Viktor while biting his lip.

"Take care of her, Krum," he muttered gruffly, and Viktor grunted his assurance.

"Oh, quit with the caveman-machismo, I can take care of myself."

* * *

><p>Hermione took in a deep breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling long and shakily.<p>

"Are you alvhright?" Viktor was studying her, concernedly.

"I haven't been back here since we took on Umbridge during the war," she explained.

Viktor rubbed at her hands, trying to soothe her nerves.

"I'm fine. I'll be fine... just," she straightened herself up a little. "Just give me a moment."

"Hermione Granger?"A barrister in court robes had approached them, briefcase in hand.

"Yes?"

"I'm Allestes Grene," he offered his hand to shake, which Hermione took, puzzled. "I've been put on retainer to help you with your proceedings." Viktor and Hermione looked at one another. Viktor hadn't had the time to find a barrister in the two days warning they'd had before the court date, as Viktor's own family law wizard had passed away recently.

Hermione sputtered. "By who?"

"I'm not at liberty to say." The young looking wizard was bespectacled, with a neatly trimmed goatee. His robes were fine, but revealed little in the way of his origins.

"What firm?"

"Hutchinson and Westborough."

Hermione remembered them vaguely as representing Gringotts for Bill during a during a lawsuit that had arisen from one of his assignments. They'd won the case by a landslide. This was odd. And awkward. She looked to Viktor, who was eying the wizard with suspicion, but shrugged his shoulders to say that the decision was her own.

Allestes looked between the two with a look of amusement, before offering Viktor his hand as well.

"Why don't we go sit down and have a look at your papers. There's plenty of time before your session."

They both followed him to one of the many desks in the commons, warily. He was right about the time. Hermione had Harry send them an auror two hours ahead of time so they could sit and go over everything before facing the Wizengamot head on, as well as giving Hermione time to get used to her discomfort with being in that particular building.

As it was, it seemed that Mr. Grene was both sincere and knowledgeable. He praised Hermione's efforts calling it a miracle that she'd been able to piece together everything in such short time, but also pointed out some flaws that she'd overlooked. He'd pointed her towards precedents she'd never heard of and backup arguments for the future trial that Hermione couldn't possibly have hoped to squeeze out of her crash course in wizarding law. She'd attempted to try and pick at him for some manner of clues as to whom or what had brought him into her service, but the clever young man wouldn't budge. He must have been a bright star to work for a firm that was trusted by goblins so early in life, as he looked mid-thirties at most, so all in all it was baffling.

When they entered chambers later, Hermione felt considerably more prepared and at ease. It was not to last.

It was horrifying. Seeing Ron restrained. After all her nightmares about the muggleborn trials, it was like staring at one of them come to life.

She covered her lips with her hand, leaning in to Viktor to whisper. "I don't know if I can do this."

Viktor's eyes darted, pulling her into a secluded corner as Allestes arranged his briefcase and their paperwork on the appropriate table.

"You can do as you vish." He stared at her, eyes serious. "But don't let his state control you. You owe him noffing."

Hermione's own gaze was fixed on the sight of Ron in immaculate dress robes... buckled into a chair. She began taking deep breaths.

"I can do this."

He looked at her, wishing he could comfort her without breaking wizarding propriety in such a solemn place.

"You can do this."

And so it began.

* * *

><p><strong>Translations: <strong>_Kote_ - According the ever helpful Ziminar it translates as "a sweet word in the middle between cat and kitty"**  
><strong>

**Author's Note:** That one took a bit more thought and time. I had no idea where to end, to be frank. It all just kind of ran together. I'm attempting to keep the chapter lengths mostly uniform, it's just easier for me to plan things out as I write that way, but it was hard to stop where I did on this one for some reason. Anyways.

I'm honestly shocked by the reception of this fic. I've had so many lengthy positive reviews and no flames so far. I did have a bit of a hiccup when I updated a chapter and uploaded the wrong doc by accident, so, sorry for that. Takes a bit before any changes show up after you've altered something so I had a repeating chapter for an hour or so. Apologies if that occurred while any of you were reading. I'm constantly re-reading and editing things as I go, so, I do tend to have to re-upload things quite often. I'll be more attentive this time though!


	14. Chapter 14

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Fourteen**

Hermione thanked all that was holy for whatever had sent Allestes their way. She probably would have lost her temper if it hadn't been for his even keeled steering of objections through the hearing. Ron's barrister had attempted to rip her to pieces, calling into question everything from her Veratiserum sworn statement to the photographs of her injuries. It was a taste of things to come in the trial, she could already tell. He'd cried favoritism, exaggeration, and fraud at every turn. And it had only been a half hour hearing to see if charges would be pursued further, if he'd be held without bond or bailed out for the duration of the trial. And of course to enter his plea.

He'd plead not guilty.

It was unsurprising. What was surprising was when they'd allowed him out on bail due to 'financial hardship'. He was being fined by the league every day he spent incarcerated, part of a disciplinary measure against rowdy players that gave professional quidditch a bad name. The head-warlock hadn't looked any happier about it than Hermione, but even she had been staggered by the amount of money siphoned away from Ron's salary in fines on a daily basis.

Viktor had been livid. His tirade to a weary looking Allestes was cut short when Hermione nearly collapsed in the common area they'd been lingering in. The two wizards quickly exchanged contact information before Viktor escorted Hermione away from the walls that seemed to press in against her.

It had been with immense relief that they'd both stumbled back to the cottage, Viktor still fumbling on his right leg as Hermione sagged into his shoulder. She'd felt clammy and light headed, dizzy against the light breeze that blew through the cottage grounds. The combination of stress and sickness encased her body heavily, and the inter-house floo system was was never more convenient as Viktor swung her into his arms and off to bed through the massive fireplace.

Hermione was jolted out of her daze as Viktor tugged off her slippers and climbed into the bed next to her. He'd had his mother retrieve her court attire from the cottage for her to dress in at the hospital, so she'd ended up wearing the most traditional ensemble she'd donned to date. From dainty slippers down to a rigidly boned corset she didn't remember owning in the first place. The latter of which she'd been oddly thankful for during the hearing, first for straightening out her shaky spine and later for keeping her upright as her strength slowly faded.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was subdued, curious and sleepy.

He'd lain back against the pillows with a flop only the truly exhausted could achieve, tugging her up with him as he pressed a vial into her sleep numbed hands.

"Making sure you take your potion."

She was beginning to doubt her capability as a healer. Uncorking the solution to down the vile tasting brew in one go, she rolled to shove the now empty container on the bedside table. When she'd rolled over to see what else he was up to she encountered a wall of muscle. She meeped. Viktor snickered.

Before he could even wrap his arms around her, a rapping came from the window, and he rolled out of bed with a groan. Opening the window, a standard post owl flew in with a letter, depositing it into Viktor's outstretched hand before darting off. Hermione sighed, burrowing herself into the thick comforter as Viktor barred the window against the ever wintering air.

"What'sit?" She yawned, feeling the potion begin to make her drowsy and heavy as she curled into the heavenly feather mattress.

Viktor, utilizing every skill he'd ever earned in blood as a spy and counting on her sleepiness to save his skin, managed to keep a steady gaze on the letter before him rather than dropping it to the floor like his hands wanted him to.

"Just a letter from coach. He vants to talk to me about upcoming game."

She eyed him, blearily, but nodded and watched as he carefully folded up the parchment before shoving it into his pants pocket.

"Try to take nap, and stay inside house. I need to meet vith coach and others for meeting."

She yawned her consent, absently waving him away as he quietly shut the door behind him.

* * *

><p>"Jesus Christ."<p>

Harry lurched away from his desk to spit into a wastebasket, not quite losing his stomach but getting rid of the taste in his mouth.

Scattered across his desk were photos that disturbed him more than any magical crime scene he'd witnessed in his short tenure as an auror, not for lack of brutality, but because the victim photographed had been still alive at the time of their capture. Not withstanding that the victim in the carefully documented progression was obviously Polyjuiced to look like Hermione.

"When did you get these?" He'd stumbled back to his office chair, trying to ignore the twisting agony on the face of the woman and instead shuffled them into the correct sequence of events. Only a few seemed to be out of order in the nearly overlapping photo sequence, the shutter speed on the camera must have been set to high for maximum coverage of the grim events. Half of them centered on a half robed death eater, his back to the camera, toying with the body double as she slowly bled out. The last photo was bathed in a green light that was unmistakable. Torture. Rape. Murder. This was the worst kind of message.

"A few minutes ago. Came by ovwel post, vith this." Viktor relinquished his grip on the edge of the desk to shove a letter on top the photos. "Says she'll suffer for my sins and her," he paused to grit his teeth, "and her dirty blood." His eyes were fixed on the tears and blood rolling down the cheeks of the woman who wore Hermione's face, over and over again in the static loop of the wizarding photographs. "It's been spelled for handvriting, can't reverse it vithout destroying the parchment."

"I got this in the mail yesterday, didn't know what it was about but I'd bet my broom it's to do with... this." Harry pulled out a desk drawer, digging into a manilla folder to throw an unfolded letter at Viktor. "I thought it was a lark, 'It's here', and when I checked up on the address it's an empty lot. Didn't see a damn thing. Whoever wrote it used a Quick-Quill, so, I'm guessing it's not the from the same source."

Viktor had fisted his hand in his hair, panting as he twirled his wand and began to pace the room, desperate to work away the adrenaline in his blood.

"Do you recognize the man at all?"

There was only one man sharing any semblance of identity with the wizard pictured, and Viktor had recognized him by the telltale tattoos immediately.

"Lukanov," he spat, "that man is Polyjuiced as him."

"You're sure? I mean, that it's not actually him?"

"He's dead, Potter." Viktor's expression was patronizing.

"Not every wizard stays dead, Krum," replied Harry, wryly.

"I killt him. And it vasn't vith magic." There was an infinite amount of finality in the statement.

"Ah."

"I recognized the address. It's vhere Hermione's parents used to live."

Harry froze with guilt, not having ever been to the house before or after it's destruction. After fire had engulfed the building and the bodies contained, it had been razed to the ground as the wreckage had been too much of a hazard to be allowed to remain standing. The death eaters who had raided the house and murdered the muggles within left nothing for Hermione to reclaim.

"I don't vant Hermione to be alone for long. This vill take a vhile, I am guessing." He snagged a piece parchment and quill off Harry's desk, scribbling a note quickly before shoving it at Harry for him to post. "George Veasley."

"George Weasley knows where you live?" Harry's eyebrows raised. Viktor Krum had always been a puzzle to Harry, and remained as mysterious as ever it seemed. How on earth was he chummy with George Weasley of all people?

"Obviously. Send the letter and let's leave." He was drumming his fingers on the desk, hunched over as he carefully examined photos one last time before they found whatever was waiting for them.

* * *

><p>Hermione woke up groggy, hair frizzing wildly around her as she stretched and moaned. Glancing at a bedside clock, she realized she couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour. Standing to putter around her room, she fixed her hair before staring out the window to wonder if Viktor was home yet. Then she noticed the redhead transfiguring a hedge into a topiary that looked to be the British Union Jack with begonias as the stripes. She dropped her brush to the floor, grabbing her cloak and and shawl after slipping on a pair of shoes and and heading towards the floo powder on her mantle.<p>

Slipping out a back door, she found herself bewilderingly correct in her assumptions. It was George. George was in _Bulgaria_. At _Viktor's cottage_.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

George whirled, wand raised, before he chucked it onto the grass and fell beside it with a groan.

"Merlin you scared me, witch," he gasped, groping at his heart as he stared into the cloudy sky. "Krum dropped me a note to watch the grounds, said he'd be away longer than he'd thought and didn't want you alone."

"Why on earth do either of you assume I need some babysitter again? My magic reserves are back to peak. Viktor's cottage is probably one of the most heavily warded private properties in the entire region. Paranoid, the lot of you."

He'd popped himself up, grabbing his wand off the ground to twirl as he caught his breath, face still slightly pale from almost hexing her.

"But what are _you_ doing _here_." She eyed him with consternation. "I didn't know that you were close friends with Viktor. _I _didn't even know where this place was up until a week ago."

"Ummmm..." The Weasley blush was strong with this one.

* * *

><p>The lot was overgrown, and they'd resorted to using their wands to blast through waist high thistle and weed grass as they thoroughly searched the area. Harry, another auror named Morrison and Viktor himself had cast strong anti-muggle wards and disallusionments so their work would go unnoticed in the otherwise normal and active non-magical neighborhood.<p>

And then out of the overgrown brush, there she was, sprawled naked on top of concrete steps that used to lead up to a door that no longer existed. Coagulating blood had pooled under her head and down the side of the steps where she lay, and although she was mostly face down anyone could see that her facial features were beaten beyond recognition. Burn marks and lacerations littered her arms and legs, and great strips had been torn from her back by some manner of lash.

This was leaving out the sexual violence done to her person. Fluid and blood on her nude form did little to disguise the horror she must have endured, and Morrison darted away from the body to heave violently as Viktor carefully turned the body over with his wand.

"Goddammit Morrison, next time make it one hundred feet before you contaminate my crime scene," Harry barked, quickly marking the waste with a spell to avoid confusion.

"Sorry boss." The young auror looked pale and shaken as he spat, aiming carefully so that it was in the same spot as before.

"Get your arse back to headquarters and get me a cleanup squad and a photographer."

Morrison, appreciation dripping from his expression for his dismissal, apparated away near instantaneously.

The woman's straight, bleach blond hair was a small comfort as they both stared at the dark mark branded into her stomach.

"Neffer, _effer_, tell her about this Potter."

"Yeah." He ran a shaky hand through his mussed hair. "Yeah."

* * *

><p>"What are you doing wandering around out here anyway? It's freezing, come inside."<p>

"I was patrolling the grounds." George had drawn himself up to his full lanky height to tower over Hermione, arms crossed as he attempted to impress his own seriousness into the conversation.

"Well, patrol yourself into the house and sit next to the fire."

"Hermione, you were poisoned. Aren't you even a little bit concerned?" Snapped George in exasperation.

Hermione rolled her eyes, tugging the shawl tighter around her neck. "Every attempt on either of us has been made in public, or in a public setting. I spent years worrying when I'd chuck it in, and I've come to an understanding; things happen whether you're constantly vigilant or arsing around. So there it is."

"I thought I was supposed to be the fatalistic one and you were supposed to be the one nagging at me for being a sloppy berk," muttered George, making Hermione laugh. "Viktor will literally have my guts for garters if he catches me inside, you know that right?"

"I think I can handle that. Now get your arse warmed up before your red nose gets any closer in color to your hair."

George whinged as the door closed behind them.

* * *

><p>She was muggle. That much was certain. But her identity concerned him less that that of her killer in the end.<p>

"We're going to have to do a full workup of the body."

A crew swirled around them, carefully inspecting the foliage, taking samples for evidence and spelling the ground for footprints as Dennis Creevey snapped photos of anything and everything.

Viktor had started to catalog curses that he'd known were used by the damage inflicted while Harry took notes on the original position of the body before moving on to take specimens of seminal fluid and blood from her tattered remains. There had long existed potions and spells to obtain paternity in absolute, but only recently had the aurory begun to utilize them for donor identification. It was another brainchild of the war, developed in order to identify bodies that were otherwise unrecognizable.

"She vasn't killed here. That I can tell."

"Yeah, that's pretty obvious mate."

It was also obviously topping off the entire message, though Harry knew now that the body had been spelled to remain hidden from muggles. It might never have been found, evidence lost to the elements until someone like Viktor thought to look at locations with a more twisted understanding of events. He realized his failings. However much his own actions had been twisted over the years he had never truly learned to think like a Death Eater, something he was still learning with every case that tied into the old 'pureblood agenda' as Hermione called it.

He paused to watch Viktor work, the Bulgarians wand flourishing as he correctly identified spell after spell, gliding it's tip over the gaping flesh of the woman's back. The look on his face was stoney, but his body was held stiffly as if to contain the terror and rage he'd seen the wizard express in his office. He had always been suspicious of where his loyalties had lain during the war, until Viktor had rooted out a plot against Ron that had the order reeling in the inner-circle dark wizard Thorfinn Rowle. He'd never quite gotten friendly with the wizard, but the respect for his true colors from then had been completely genuine.

A drab post owl suddenly flapped into view, startling most of the group to reach for their wands. It dropped a letter at Viktor's feet, hooting it's displeasure in spades before rushing away from the twitching wizard who was prodding the parchment suspiciously. He opened it, cursing loudly before apparating away.

Harry rushed over to pick up the parchment, wondering what had him rushing off.

"Three days hence. Do _not _let her leave the cottage. They _will_ find her." He felt his stomach knot and his mouth go dry. They were two leagues behind a train hurtling towards an unknown destination, and he was the one stuck manning the switch rails. He had to figure this out. And fast.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I've actually had this written for a few days, but just haven't had the time to sit down to type and edit it. Whew. Glad I've gotten it done! Here's to wishing everyone a happy All Hallows Eve! We're fast approaching the climax of events here I think, so, hopefully I'll be able to crank these chapters out a mite faster. I'll be doing my best.


	15. Chapter 15

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Fifteen**

"Hermione!"

George shot up off the couch like a bullet, quickly running to try and yank open a window, desperately looking for a quick escape. It was a futile attempt; everything on the ground floor was warded shut as a precaution. He cursed, shifting side to side as Hermione shook her head.

"_Hermione!_ Vhere are you!" He was in the corridor, no escape.

"I'm in here Viktor!", called out Hermione, as George frantically waved his hands for her to keep quiet. She grinned, George groaned.

He stood in the doorway, arms folded as George relined against the windowpane, the picture of disaffected repose.

"Veasley." His voice was dark as his eyes shot between the two, quirking into a black smile as he saw the laughter in Hermione's eyes.

"Krum." George tossed his shaggy mop of scarlet in response, shifting his stance to crossed arms, mimicking his posture to a tee.

"Just get outside Veasley." He swung his chin to the door. "I need your eyes." His twisted smirk belied the seriousness in his eyes, and his voice was tired and low. George dropped his arms, straightening against the glass.

"Righto, Captain Red." The Weasley boys had christened him as one of their own during the war. His nickname had been surprisingly less derogatory than Hermione had expected. George tossed a jaunty salute before heading out the door.

At his disappearance, Viktor sagged heavily into the doorjamb in relief.

"I..." he stopped, no wanting to tell her everything for fear of frightening her yet not knowing where to start. He walked over to sit next to her, staring out the windows vigilantly as he gripped his knees, hunched over. "I've gotten letters just now. From somevone hou knows vhat is happening."

"You've what?" Hermione sat up, spine rigidly straight. "As in helping us out or threatening us, what?"

He shifted to pull her against him, twining his fingers into hers as she began to pluck at her robes.

"Both. Threatening and somevone... tips? Tips us off. Says that in the next three days something vill happen to you." He winced, not having wanted to admit that the target in this case was her. But it was so difficult to look at her in the face and lie to her. "The threatening letters say that hurting you is only to hurt me." He rubbed their linked fingers with his open palm as the sudden paleness gradually left her face.

"Do you think you know who it is by what they're writing to you? Can I see the letters?" Hermione's brain was whirling at top speed.

He shook his head. "I've hurt many people, _killed_ many people during the var, mila. It could be any number of vizards. But yes, I think I may know out of a group who is doing this." His gaze had become distant once more, dark eyes glazed over deep in thought. "I haffn't a clue who is helping, though." He fixed back onto her thoughtful countenance, watching the gears grind in her head at their fastest.

"Don't look at me. I haven't the foggiest. Everyone I can think of burned those bridges a long time ago. Or are just plain dead, come to think of it." Viktor had been a mole among many, but few had survived their tenure.

"I don't care. I don't care who it is, so long as they keep giffing us information." He exhaled raggedly, passing his free hand over his eyes. "If you'd neffer met me again..."

"I'd probably still be with Ron."

He shook his head again, at a loss.

"What about your parents Viktor? Your grandmother? They're in danger too."

"I've sent them avay, after the attack in the hospital, somevhere that kept them safe during the var." The agitated look was back. "Is secret kept. This all leads back to the var. I am sure of it."

Hermione closed her eyes as he moved to stand, stalking past the windows like a caged animal. He leaned his head against the cool glass. He swore, softly under his breath in Bulgarian. He cursed Voldermort, then himself. Hermione's lids opened to fix on his back, shadowed in the afternoon light that streamed into the broad windows.

"I have an idea, but you're not going to like it," her voice was dry, almost harsh.

He turned, face stoney and set to scowl. There was something lurking behind her eyes, and he could already tell that he wouldn't like her response.

* * *

><p>"I <em>said<em>, get your arse over here," He yelled into the grate, begging muttering to himself yet again. "Damned long distance."

"Why the bloody hell couldn't you have just owled me?" Yelled back Charlie.

"Because there wasn't the time, you bloody great wanker, that's why! Now quit arguing with me and pack your boots." George was loosing what little patience he had, wanting to get back to guard duty before Viktor had chance to rip into him a second time.

Charlie growled, or so George translated from the blurry features that grimaced in the embers. "But why? Merlin's bollocks brother, you're not making any sense."

"Because someone's trying to murder our girl, **that's** why." That didn't need any translation. She was and always had been 'their girl' amongst the boys. "They already got to her once with poison, and there've been threats-" Charlie cut him off.

"Why didn't you say so in the first place," he barked. "I've got leave coming to me. Give me a couple minutes."

"If you'd just listen to me in the first place..." Charlie's face disappeared and he choked on the insult that tipped his tongue. At least they'd have some backup. Though Charlie had been a late comer to the war, he trusted no one more at his back, other than his twin. The thought caused a twinge, which he quickly shrugged off. They needed eyes. Trustworthy eyes.

* * *

><p>"No."<p>

"Viktor-"

"I said no."

"Viktor, we can't hole up in here forever."

He was pacing, trying to come up with a better idea, but Hermione had been one of the more brilliant tacticians on the Light side, and a less direct approach wasn't forthcoming.

"Somewhere public, very, very public. Somewhere we can have aurors and backup blended in with a crowd." She paused. "Somewhere they've attempted before, where we make an easy target. The both of us. They won't be able to resist."

Viktor slammed his hands down on a side table, turning to glare at her wildly. "Dammit Hermione, I von't let you draw them out by letting them smell bludt. I von't allow it. It's too dangerous, and I von't risk you that vay."

"It's has to be us both, or they might pass it up. It's not worth putting one of us in danger when getting the both of us is like hitting up Gringotts."

Viktor snarled, and when Hermione flinched as he violently shoved away from the table his eyes dimmed. His heart ached. His head ached. It was too much for one day. Giving up all semblance of composure, he sat on the floor in front of her, leaning forward to lay his head in her lap as he shook, roping down his anger for fear of frightening her. He'd never wanted to frighten her. So instead he prostrated himself in front of her, letting her take stock of his total subjugation before condemning him for his violent reaction. He would never harm her, but her past was such that he knew she would need the reassurance after his actions.

She shivered as she placed her hands in his hair, gently stroking his trembling locks for a short while before he jerked away, moving to kneel in front of her to grasp her arms as he peered into her face.

"I'm sorry," he choked. Their eyes met, and he steeled his reserve to deny her yet again.

"You haven't done anything to be sorry for." She swallowed heavily, reaching out to lean into his braced arms.

He stroked her hair as she pressed her face into his neck, gripping her tightly. Sitting down she still barely reached his chin. Her small body felt so frail in his arms, like she could shatter into a thousand pieces with a flex of his wrists. Already thin, the weight she'd lost in the days past had made her nearly gaunt compared to his form.

"There has to be another way. Potter and I haff been gathering evidence, looking for ways to find the man behind this. Ve just need time."

Hermione shifted, and Viktor dropped his hands to splay on her back as she pressed her forehead to his own, staring into his eyes as she spoke. "We don't have time. If we wait around all we're doing is giving them more chances to attack us on the sly. We need to take the offensive, and if we don't know who is the mastermind this is the easiest way."

She breathed in sharply as he dipped his head to capture her lips, carefully caressing her mouth before dipping into her depths for a deep reaffirmation of their earlier kiss.

"I von't put you in harms vay like that. There vill be another vay; there _must be._ Giff me these three days to search. Then ve vill try your vay."

She sighed. "Alright, alright."

Viktor nodded tersely, before leaning in to tenderly kiss her, disengaging her swollen lips with a frown as he stared out the window with interest.

"What, what is it?"

"Somevone is outside who shouldn't be. Stay here." He drew his wand before stalking out the doorway. The door was shut and locked behind him before Hermione was even halfway off the sofa.

"Viktor-_sodding_-Krum you overprotective bastard, I hate it when you pull this!" She pounded on the door, with no response. He was long gone. She quickly ran to the window, hoping both her men weren't in jeopardy while she was trapped and useless.

* * *

><p>The trees behind them exploded, showering them with leaves and shattered wood.<p>

George nearly shat himself, though he wasn't about to admit it. The man had popped out of nowhere, and with a lightening quick Confringo he disappeared nearly as speedily in a blinding explosion of shredded wood and foliage. George retaliated with maniac gusto, blindly firing disarming spell after disarming spell as Charlie quickly banished the timber still floating in the air. It was then that it became apparent that both parties should lay down their wands.

Viktor glared daggers at both of the red heads as they roared with laughter. All three of them were covered in tree sap from a decimated pine, and Charlie in particular was absolutely decorated with pine needles. In the dying light of the setting sun it had been nearly impossible to make the two men out against the wash of the open field they stood in, and Viktor had always had a policy of hex first and ask questions later. Luckily he'd chosen to destroy the tree as a diversion rather than Charlie's thick skull.

"Veasley. And Veasley." Both bowed, mockingly. "Vhy the _fuck_ didn't you tell me your brother was coming?"

"It was spur of the moment. I remembered that he had some holiday time saved up and wanted another wand at the ready." George shrugged

"Don't look so excited to see me, mate." Charlie brushed tree bits off his stocky shoulders nonchalantly, eying Viktor with a raised brow as the Bulgarian rolled his own orbs heavenly for patience. Not just one Weasley to curb now, but _two_.

He shook his head, quickly whipping around to alter the wards before stalking back towards the house. He paused, looking back to the brothers with long suffering but grateful annoyance. "You _are_ coming, yes?"

The Dragon Keeper shrugged, reaching down to dust off his dragon hide covered derriere with a ginger pat. "Wild Welsh-Greens couldn't drag me away. If our girl's on the line, you better damn well open up your wards to me, Krum."

Viktor's gate stiffened as he rapid fire shot a stinging hex towards Charlie, which was just as quickly deflected. "Maybe I make you sleep in the garden, vith the gnomes," he snarled at the older wizard.

Charlie snorted, before shooting back a quick retort."I'd like to see that happen. Hermione would have none of it. Goddess knows I've missed her letters dearly; we're overdue for a long chat." George fairly hooted at the seekers visible irritation.

The bickering continued until they reached the house, only mostly clean despite a bevy of half remembered cleaning spells a-piece.

* * *

><p>The racket was unmistakable as they approached the Great Room. The banging and shrilling. She was <em>pissed<em>. All three hesitated, turning to one another before staring at the door with dread.

"You let me out. Let me out _right now_ Viktor. I know you're out there, and you're off your broom if you think I'm going to let you lock me in here while you're off to battle without me next time. I can hear you shuffling, you great bully, _you open this doo_-" The door swung open to reveal a trio rather than the expected duo.

She blinked, shocked stock still.

"Charlie, did you get into a fight with a bleeding spruce tree?"

George doubled over laughing as Charlie went beet red to his roots, rubbing his burn scarred hands furiously through his hair and over his sticky clothing.

"That's actually pretty near the truth."

Hermione shook her head. "Since when do they let you off the reserve anyway? I thought you only took off Christmas away from your precious babies."

"I make exceptions for svelte, chocolate eyed beauties." George clipped him in the back of the skull, growling, before Viktor had a chance to hex him himself.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I take it this is the scoundrel you went after for disturbing your wards?"

"The same," drawled Viktor.

"And what, might I ask, are you doing here?

"Heard someone was giving you some trouble. You know how I get when someone gives you trouble," shot back Charlie, with a scowl.

And she did indeed. During the war Antonin Dolohov had fixated on her with a vengeance after their several run in over her 'school' years. Charlie had been one of her escorts when a group of order members made a run to Diagon Alley during the war for potions supplies and other necessities, and they'd inevitably run into trouble during the trip despite all precautions. When one of the darkly robed wizards was unmasked to be Dolohov, who only a week before during a skirmish in Hogsmeade had managed to shove his hands up Hermione's skirt before George threw him off, Charlie had lost all composure. Blue-green eyes blazing, he'd only been stopped after the dark-wizard had already choked to death on his own blood after an entrail-expelling hex had gone awry.

"Yes, well, I appreciate the sentiment. As long as all of you can play nice together."

Though Hermione herself had never been witness to the mayhem, Ginny had sent her reports of the roughhousing and typical boyhood pissing competition that had occurred whenever the Weasley boys and Viktor had been housed together. The order had ended up giving him his own room in Grimmauld after rooming with first the twins then Charlie during his visits to the headquarters, each with disastrous results to both warring sides. He gave as good as he got, which only made him a more intriguing target for the boy and their boredom.

"Can't make any promises, love," sung the ex-twin. George then shoved Charlie, who had returned the cuff to the back of his brother's head.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose as Viktor growled at the both of them.

"Well, if you could quit with the testosterone exhibition for more than five seconds, we can get down to brass tacks." At all of the wizards blank stares she elaborated, minus the muggle-isms. "Let's make some semblance of a plan of action."

"Ah." "Righto." "Da." The three men consciously relaxed, all finding spots to perch in throughout the room. George strayed back to windows, Viktor onto a chair near Hermione, and Charlie plopped himself down in front of the fireplace to lounge on a thick rug. Hermione then scoured each with her own spell, created then perfected through necessity during her time on the run, returning her men to crisp cleanliness with a lazy flick of her wand. George grinned, squeaking his immaculately clean hands to show his appreciation.

"Honestly," she admonished with a sigh. "Anyways, firstly, is it possible to boost the wards? Do they need reinforcement?"

"I have very strong vards up already, but vith the extra worry I vill boost them up in strength for a short vhile. I can't stand to make any permanent changes."

Hermione nodded her head in understanding. The amount of magical power it took to make any sort of major change to wards the size of the ones encircling Viktor's property would more than likely drain any wizard or witch for days, which defeated the purpose of strengthening the wards in the first place. They couldn't place any one of themselves defenseless in that way on the off chance that someone did manage to break through the barriers set in place.

"We'll need to know the weakest points in the warding, where they'll strike first so we can monitor them," added Charlie, as his brother nodded.

"Need to contact Harry and find out where he's at with the investigation," threw in George.

"Make sure you have him send me a number one potions kit, I'll whip up some brews in case anything happens." They'd standardized different types of potions in groups referred to by number, for the sake of secrecy; number one was for strength and standard healing.

"I"ll take first watch," offered George.

"Are you certain that we should be staying here rather than moving somewhere they perhaps aren't as familiar with?" Charlie's brow was furrowed in skepticism.

"It's as safe as any other stronghold. I vas lead to belief through an inside source that ve vould be safe if ve kept to the vards here." Viktor shrugged. Their guess was as good as any. "Either vay, ve're a target."

"Lovely." Came George, sarcastically.

* * *

><p>They were staying in the nursery for the night, all forgoing any reticence for the added reassurance of safety in numbers. The beds, all in row, had been enlarged to fit taller frames but otherwise it was as Hermione had remarked to herself, like something out of Peter Pan. Viktor had collapsed against the brass frame of his own bed for the night, lounging while the Weasley boys crowded around him as Hermione sauntered off to shower before bedding down. He'd exhausted himself from boosting the wards, but had forgone the urge to sleep for the opportunity to update the boys while Hermione's ears lay elsewhere. Miraculously, he'd made it through the entire story without demolishing any furniture despite his lethargy. He was now wide awake with frustration and anger.<p>

"How in the wizarding world did they manage get close enough to her for the hair needed for the potion?" Charlie's face was as pale as he'd ever seen it without there being dead relatives involved as George grimaced spectacularly, and both wizards had gripped the bedspread with fearful wrath at learning the latest news in the series of attacks.

"I don't vant to think about it."

George shivered. "What are you going to do if you can't figure it out in your time limit? You set yourself up pretty short there, friend."

Viktor grunted. "Figure that out vhen I get to it. I need to bang on a few doors for now."

"Well, if Harry's not up to it we can always call Bill down for a spell. This is his off-season at Gringotts, they could probably spare him for a few days," offered Charlie.

"Yes. Let's just involve your entire family. Brilliant." Viktor's twitching lips undermined the sarcasm rife in his intonation.

"He's a damn werewolf. The nose knows."

Charlie groaned. "George, that was terrible, even for you."

"You know you love me, brother dearest."

Viktor sighed, trying to prime himself for sleep while mentally planning the day to come. He had a lot to accomplish, and next to no time to do it all in.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Well, this one took a long while to crank out. I just couldn't seem to sit down and finish it. More and more people keep on getting involved, mostly Weasley's. I can't help it. Other than Ron and maybe Molly just a little bit, I pretty much love the Weasley's. They're also trustworthy to a fault, which is why Viktor keeps on roping them in. I picture him as a loner by necessity and nature, especially after having been a death eater during the war. Lots of acquaintances and very few close friends.

I'm trying very hard to not have Hermione's desirability come off too over the top, but I'm a gigantic fan of reverse harems XD She deserves some love after putting up with Ron for over seven years. Maybe I should have titled it "Everyone Loves Hermione" and been done with it, lol. But anyways. Here's to wishing everyone a very happy Thanksgiving in advance, just in case.


	16. Chapter 16

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Sixteen**

"Hermione, vhat are you-"

His soft inquiry was cut off by what should have been a shushing noise, but ended up a breath of air caught by the gurgle of an exhale and tears. The dim candlelight flickered off her wet face, and he noticed that she was pointing to the two beds beside hers. The others were fast asleep, George slightly snoring in his deep rest after having spent three hours staring out the windows aimlessly.

"I can't sleep. Don't wake them up. They need the rest," she whispered back, making the decision for him as she drew him onto her bed after he'd hovered bedside her, propriety warring with his instinct.

"Vhy..." He cupped his hands around her face, gently smudging her wet cheeks with his thumbs before pulling out a handkerchief to softly dry her tears. She let out a small moan, flopping herself back on the bed as he quickly pulled his boots off to slip in beside her. He moved the arm she'd covered her eyes with, forcing her to look at him as she composed herself.

"I thought... After Voldermort and the war; I never thought anything would be able to touch me like that again. That kind of viciousness. Even after working with Harry. I mean, I didn't expect that these years would be easy." He'd grabbed her fingers, twisting upon each other until her knuckles went white, and placed them on his chest with his own covering them. "Rebuilding a fragmented society wasn't going to be easy. But I never thought that..." She shook her head, burying her face in his shoulder as he reached his broad arms around her tightly. He rocked them gently, side to side as she trembled, forcing her breaths softly in an effort to keep the silence unmarked.

He'd rolled up the sleeves to his tunic, robes discarded for the night, and his stomach rolled as he caught sight of the scarred over dark tattoo ever present on his forearm. It disgusted him to see it's contact with the pale silk of her exposed arm, and he had to physically stop from tearing himself away from her in irrational guilt and fear. It was a large part of his reasoning for not having sought her out like shelter in a storm after the fighting had been over. All it had taken was one look at his arm for him to give up any ghost of hope. She'd deserved someone who wasn't branded with a traitors mark, he'd thought. The idea was fleeting as it drifted through his mind, however, as he realized that in keeping his distance he'd merely condemned her to perdition with Weasley.

"There vill alvays be somevone there to take from us. There cannot be light vithout dark, surtse moe."

"I know."

He shifted, curling one hand slowly up and down her thigh as he played with the soft curls at her neck with the other.

"I thought..." He paused, inhaling sharply as she lifted his arm to press a kiss to his Dark Mark. Observant witch, she must have noticed. His breath grew ragged as his hands pushed at her long nightgown, searching for her skin. Her body was warm against his own, and so near. "I neffer thought I'd hold you again. I thought I'd die vhen _he_ died, or that you'd be vith somevone who deserf you more, somevone less dark than I... _Liubov moia_.." he groaned thickly in a whisper as she began to mouth at his clavicle. It was time to give in. Grabbing his wand from its holster, he quickly cast a silencing charm before pulling the quilt firmly over them as he pushed her flat against the mattress.

He devoured her slowly, supping on her mouth while under the covers his hand made quick work of the brassiere she'd worn to bed for modesty. She moaned quietly as he began to worship her breasts, cupping and molding them before moving to toy with her awakening nipples as she slipped her hands up his tunic to find his own. They were both trying to keep their movements slight, ever aware of their surroundings and the slumbering men in the beds beside them. It took all of Hermione's concentration not to cry out, spreading herself for him when his large palm found it's way into her lingerie.

Viktor had pulled back from his assault on her lips to watch her face as he circled her treasure, watching with eyes, dark and heavy, as she bit her lower lip when he tauntingly pulled the fabric taught against her slit. Her own eyes rolled back, snapping shut as he began to run his fingers up and down that dampening pathway. He teased, plucking and cupping her with careful purpose until she reached down for his his wrist with an impatient hand. But instead she moved to clutch at him when she gasped, eyes opening wide to lock with his own as his thick fingers slid home. With every slick parting by his curling fingers, she inhaled hard, and when her whole body jerked as his thumb hit her pleasure, he reached in to swallow her keens with a growl.

Her blissfulness wound tighter, tighter still, until she snapped with an abated moan, burying her face in his chest as he panted into her hair. She could feel his own heat, hard and heavy against her side as he pressed over her, body curled to cover the motion of his digits within her. A strong hand restrained her own when she reached for him, and she shyly retreated. He had no other thoughts of himself, this night would be for her. He moved to nuzzle her cheek, showering her with kisses before drawing back to gaze into her eyes once more.

Viktor had been mesmerized by her eyes as she fell apart around him. Nothing more beautiful, nothing more that was only _his_ for the taking, his to enjoy. His pulse thrummed at having reclaimed her in this measure despite the obstacle of having the other men, men who lusted and chased after her equally, in the same room. It wasn't something he'd expected of her, or even sought, but he wasn't about to pass up the chance to mark her as his own again when the opportunity was thrust upon him. He watched as her pupils dilated, black swallowing up the rich hazel as he purposefully brought his damp fingers to his lips, drinking down her passion with greedy stokes of his tongue before he latched them back on to her own as she trembled with aftershocks.

After several all consuming sweeps through her lips, he drew back to press a final kiss to her forehead, still panting softly as he settled her into his arms to stroke her back reassuringly. He tilted his head upwards, peering darkly at the beds and their occupants to find both still soundly sleeping. Moving back to take in her expression as she smiled at him, he grinned back as she pecked his lips before snuggling down against him sleepily. As she began to doze, he whispered softly to her in Bulgarian everything he wished he could say to her when she was awake. He told her he was in love with her, asked her to stay alive for him no matter what, and when she was fast asleep and the stars were bright and calling him back to his restless watch, he brokenly asked her to be his wife.

* * *

><p>It was the crack of dawn, and he was already baying for blood.<p>

"Gotten a leg over, have we?" Bill glared wolfishly at Viktor, mouth firmly twisted into a scowl.

Viktor, his already threadbare composure dropped even lower by the malicious reproof, gave into temptation and sucker punched the older man in the jaw. "You keep you mouth _shut_, Veasley." He shook his hand from the impact, fingers stiff. He thanked Nimue's knickers that Potter was yet to show up as they loitered outside the deserted street in front of Bill's townhouse. The last thing he needed was a lecture on virtue from her best friend.

"Och, me lip you-" Bill rotated his jaw, patting at his lower lip with his fingertips before pulling them back to check for blood. "Next time miss the face, arsehole. "

"Not like it vill make a difference, Veasley." That was low blow, admittedly. Bill's ravaged face was still handsome enough, but the deep and angry red scars that marred his features were a mark of his poorly concealed inner wolf, both frightening and stigmatizing in their world. Bill wrapped his fingers into Viktor's robes, lifting him to slam into the brick wall behind them.

"It's your own fault for showing up practically wearing her scent like a bloody red flag."

"It's none of your damn business," hissed Viktor, knuckles curling together as the werewolf twitched, itching for a fight.

"Oh, I think it is," snarled Bill, whipping out his wand to point it at Viktor's temple. Hermione had made him swear that he wouldn't draw his wand on Bill before he'd left, and he was attempting to keep to his word. They'd never gotten along, and out of all the Weasley brothers he was the only one other than the turncoat Percy that he'd held any true animosity towards. "She's not some little quidditch tart you can use up and throw away, Krum, and I'll not have her twisting in the wind over you."

"No, your brother did that vonderfully all on his own."

Bill swallowed, amber eyes slitting with detached rage. "I'll remedy that, and right soon after the ministry's done with him."

He drew back, stowing his wand after setting Viktor down on his feet. Bill was slight, but his added strength and speed from his condition matched Viktor's and then some. He'd hardly seen the other wizard move before he'd been laid up against the wall, and the effort hadn't seemed to tax him in the slightest.

"Get in line," he barked back. Damn Weasleys and their belated protectiveness.

Bill had lost Fleur to a spell damage induced coma for nearly ten months, having to have Victoire delivered from her mother while she was still comatose but well past her due date. He'd had six months of raising a motherless child while still mourning his wife's lack of recovery, worrying if she'd ever wake up, and Hermione had been there for him to shoulder the burden. If it wasn't his mother or Ginny sitting down to coddle poor little Victoire, it had been Hermione up at three in the morning with a warm bottle and endless patience. His little sister by everything except blood, and he owed her a debt that he knew he couldn't hope to repay after his own brother of all people had managed to do her wrong.

"Is everything alright with you two?" Harry had popped into being, looking between the two wizards with unease as they glared in opposite directions. A terse nod from Viktor was his only response. He sighed. "Let's get going then."

"To vhere?"

"London. We've got a stop to make first."

* * *

><p>They were down a tucked away alley off of Diagon, where townhouses and brick storefronts seemed to run together seamlessly. They stopped in front of a nondescript shop, nothing but a cauldron with a set of empty vials in the front window and a sign bearing the same. A bell tinkled as they walked in, and Viktor took in the neat and orderly shelves of ingredients and display tables full of expensive equipment. Eyes roaming the baskets of fresh holly and immaculately bottled newts breath, the place very nearly squeaked clean. It was obviously an upscale apothecary, but everything became clear when a black clothed form ducked out a backroom door to attend the three customers.<p>

"Potter," came the familiar acidic baritone, and Viktor couldn't stop himself from gaping. It had been a miracle that the man was alive, and a miracle even further still that he seemed to lack any hatred in his gaze towards Harry. He'd remembered vividly how the man had all but filleted Potter with both his tongue and temper at every opportune moment during his short stint at Hogwarts.

"Snape." Harry nodded in deference, and the willowy ex-spy retreated to his back room before emerging with a slim stack of parchment and a half wrapped parcel. He motioned with an irritated flex of his wrist for them to sit down on the stools next to an empty table as he grabbed a few bottles from the shelves before perching in front of them himself. It was disconcerting to see him without his professorial robes, though the wizard's presence remained undimmed despite the lack of billowing fabric. His stiffly buttoned topcoat lead up to a tightly wrapped black silk cravat, which barely did him the service of concealing his broadly torn throat.

He'd wondered if the man had even truly wanted to survive the war, though he supposed he must have with the precautions he'd taken. Hermione had saved his life after force feeding him potion after potion she'd found in his pockets, one of them being an antivenin concocted to counteract Nagini's bite, before forcing Ron to help to help her drag him away from what should have been his death scene to a medical unit. She'd managed to clamp his torn arteries with a carefully placed spell, and all told her actions had saved his life.

Thick lengths of black hair fell into his face and he leaned onto the table with laced fingers, his long braid falling over one shoulder as his tall form hunched over the table to stare over them like nothing more than a great bird of prey. No longer sallow or unkempt from self neglect, he radiated second life in his own way. There was no love lost between either spy, but the man had done him a good a turn having taken care of Karkaroff for him.

"The wizard you will be looking for," he paused to stare at Viktor, black eyes drinking in his rapt attention. "Is Eastern European. Male. Black hair, blue eyed. Matches nothing I personally have on file or with the ministry."

"As for the poison... I can only narrow it down to clutch of suppliers. The ingredients are too common and the sample was too degraded for any further testing. It's all in my notes."

He placed the bottles into the parcel before carefully folding a piece of parchment off the top of the stack in front of him with a black ribbon, placing it to nest on top of the contents. Wrapping it in brown paper, he bound it with twine before shoving it at Viktor. "Her potions. Tell her she needn't bother with a kit when she can owl me, stupid girl. Do try not to break anything." It's recipient went without saying.

He tossed a stray bottle at Bill, who caught it deftly with confusion. "Your leftover... sample," he spoke to Harry, pushing the parchment over the table to him before tossing his chin at Bill. "Have your mutt see what he can do with it."

Bill growled, and Harry rolled his eyes before rising to leave. The insults were, what he'd learned, his dismissal. While he no longer slighted with every remark, as he seemed to before his release from bondage to two masters, it was obvious that the biting sarcasm was and always had been ingrained in the potion masters identity. He wasn't a personable man by any means, but he no longer exuded unpleasantness at every turn. It had taken getting used to, especially since he was on retainer with the aurory meaning he'd had constant contact with the wizard since his promotion.

"Krum." Before they walked out the door entirely, Snape called out as he stood with his back turned to the storefront.

"Yes," came his uncertain reply.

"How is Miss Granger recovering."

"She is vell, nearly to herself now."

Snape nodded his head before stalking slowly into his backroom, slamming the door behind him. Viktor quirked an eyebrow.

"Irritable sod," muttered Bill.

* * *

><p>Black hair. While that described many people in his acquaintance, the blue eyed part was what had him carefully scribbling out a list. The sat in Potter's office while Harry shuffled through the notes Snape had given them. He tossed a sheet of parchment at Viktor, who dropped his quill to look it over. It was a list of apothecaries and their addresses.<p>

"Any of those sound familiar? Place wise?"

Viktor shook his, eyes running down the list with irritation as nothing piqued a rememberall for him. "I didn't haff much to do vith potions during my... time. Most of them are in the same area anyvays." He looked down at his list, desperately trying to remember details on all the men listed. Many of them were a dab hand at potions, which didn't help. What also didn't help was that he didn't know if half of them were alive or dead. A large portion of former Death Eaters had simply disappeared off the map entirely, leaving neither dead bodies or live tracks.

"Here." He pointed at one name. "Ve'll start here. It's the most vell known out of the shops."

"What the hell are we going to do? Ask for the name of every black haired, blue eyed customer?" Spat, Bill, clearly not impressed.

"No, we're going to ask for the name of every black haired, blue eyed customer who bought all these ingredients, smart arse," bullied back Harry, pushing his glasses up his nose as they fell down while he shook a piece of parchment in Bill's face. "Did you get a good whiff of that sample? In case we come across anything?"

"Why, yes, Harry, I took a nice sniff of the blood and spunk. I've got enough of that scent to last me, thank you."

Harry snickered, shoving Bill out into the hallway in front of him as Viktor shut the door behind.

* * *

><p>They were striking out. It had helped that Viktor's fame preceded him, in both ways. The shadier suppliers were terrified of crossing the path of a volatile ex-Death Eater and the reputable dealers were in awe of the professional flyer. Having Harry Potter himself attending as an auror was also a nice touch. He was relatively confident that they were receiving mostly straight answers. It was late in the day, and all three men were foot weary and growing hungrier by the second.<p>

Bill groaned, digging out a pocket watch from his lapel before shoving it away with a long look on his face. "Let's break for food. I'm famished, and we're getting nowhere anyways."

"I'll second that," chimed in Harry, and Viktor grunted his own approval despite all his desire to keep on pushing through. Then he caught the sight of a small, run down shop that wasn't on his list. But just looking at him gave him the thought of dark wizards and destitution.

"Vone more shop. Just vone more." He pointed at the apothecary, with it's patched roof and dusty front window that was barely translucent with grit.

Bill began to whine before the entire sentence left his mouth, and Harry did the honors as he clipped his head with the binder he'd been lugging around.

"That one's not even on the list." Noticed Potter, staring down at his paperwork with a frown.

"Let's check it out and get gone already. It looks dodgy enough for a sniff," countered Bill, taking in it's dilapidation with a practiced eye despite his misgivings. As they walked up to the door, it became apparent just how dodgy when the clientele carousing out front with the jitters shrank back at their approach.

The stench of ripe ingredients and ripe individuals assaulted Bill's nose as they walked into the shop, and the half-haphazardly sorted potions on the shelves didn't help his impression of the business. A spare looking wizard, balding and stooped with a black apron and sleeve protectors, sat behind his counter. He barely blinked as Harry flashed his ministry badge, instead looking to Viktor with bleary eyed expectation.

"_What do you want?_"

"_I need a name._"

The elderly wizards voice became tired. "_Well, bollocks. I've got lots of names, I wonder which one it is._"

"_Don't start with me, old man. A wizard. Black hair, blue eyes. Came in around three months ago looking for these ingredients._" Viktor plopped down a Bulgarian translated version of the list Harry had given him on the counter, eying the mans reaction for signs of recognition.

When he hit the underlined ingredient, the key ingredient, his tell became obvious. His left eye blinked independently. While he exuded casualness and relaxed ignorance in every other way, Viktor knew in his gut the man was about to open up his mouth and lie. He didn't disappoint.

"_I can't say I have._"

"_Bullshit._"

"_How dare you-_"

"_I told you not to start with me. I know you did._" Viktor's hand twitched next to his wand, threateningly. "_Now you're going to tell me who you sold it to, or I'm going to make your life even more miserable than it already is._"

"_I don't have a name to give you. I swear to you._" The man was getting antsy, shifting side to side in obvious discomfort as Viktor's cold anger began to radiate outwards with his impatience.

"_This is a controlled substance. You're supposed to be keeping a record of who you sold it to._"

"_Does it look like I keep a ledger here? Really?_"

"_Well you better damn well think of something, shouldn't you._" Viktor began to roll up his sleeves, and the wizards eyes darted out of their sockets when he caught sight of his Dark Mark and the size of his forearms.

"_Botev Peak,_" he stuttered. "_He wanted to know about a certain altitude and it's effect on the boiling temperature, which would mean that he was from somewhere near Botev._"

Viktor slapped a galleon down on the counter, pointing at his mouth before leaving as Harry and Bill hurried after him, leaving the implications of passing around his inquiry crystal clear.

"What! What did he say?" Harry had to dash after him at a clip to keep up.

"He said that he sold things like this to a man fitting type from near Botev Mountain."

"Well who do you know from near Botev?" Cut in Bill.

"Yuldashev. Only vone I know for certain is still aliffe."

"So that's our guy?"

"I think is our guy."

"You're certain?" Harry prodded, needing more reassurance.

"The _fuck_ do you think, Potter?" Viktor was running on guesswork and luck.

"Alright, alright already. We'll find out soon enough, I guess."

* * *

><p><strong>Translations:<strong> __Liubov moia_ – _My love, _Surtse moe_ - my heart Bulgarian provided by the helpful Ziminar

**Author's Note:** Oh dear, Viktor's been a bad boy. A very, _very_ bad boy. I don't think Hermione's complaining, though. And I guess we can tack on a few more to Hermione's parade of admirers. Angry, tetchy ones at that too. Boys, boys! Keep it down now! But I guess this is what I get when writing and watching hockey at the same time, fucking right those sweaters come off, lol.


	17. Chapter 17

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Seventeen**

Bill had made breaking down the mans wards look like child's play, tearing through the protective magic like a slicing hex to parchment, nearly cackling the entire way. Inside, huddled next to a dying fire in tattered opulence was Yuldashev.

The once stylish chalet had been stripped bare, tapestries mostly missing from the walls and discolored paint squares where fine art once hung. Viktor was only slightly taken aback. Vasilenko Yuldashev himself looked only slightly surprised by their arrival as they stormed into the main room, wands blazing.

"Krum," he greeted, with an elegant nod that clashed with his worn looking but once stylish robes.

"_What happened to The Magdalena?_" Cut a darkly amused Viktor, in a harsh tone.

"_Seized by the ministry in lieu of restitution._"

"_I thought your vaults ran deep_."

"_So did I, until they told me the price of buying my way out of Azkaban. They couldn't prove anything, but even the suspicion..._" he sneered. There were many like him. The hangers on, those who hadn't been trusted enough to be branded with the mark of servitude but were utilized for their wealth and influence. Vasilenko had all but exhausted many of his favors maneuvering the Dark Lord's agenda politically during the war, so he could only imagine the amount of gold it must have taken to dig himself out of an early grave after it.

Bill snarled as the younger wizard rose, making a gesture towards a sideboard that now stood filled with a tray of steaming Turkish coffee. Raising an eyebrow, he made a show of shaking back his long black hair out of face, spreading his empty hands wide as Bill trained his wand on the other wizard's jugular.

"Wintergreen, he reeks of it," barked Bill to Viktor, and a dawning understanding came over the other wizard's face. Vasilenko's already pale, sickly looking complexion went a pasty white, and he sank back into the finely upholstered chase he'd been sitting on before his aborted attempt at placation.

"_I was assured it couldn't be traced..._" He swallowed hard.

"_They lied,_" hissed Viktor triumphantly.

"_Who...?_" He looked at Potter with dead eyes, surveying the occupants of the room with quiet acceptance of his fate with merely a hint of terror. There was a witch involved, as he well knew from fulfilling the other portion of his client's demands.

"_My. __Witch._" The possessive snarl on the last word was unmistakable. Viktor had moved to crouch down in front of him, and he spoke lowly while he loomed over the slight wizard, wand hanging loosely in his fist with understated malice. He took in Vasilenko, who had begun to heave for air as the seeker leaned in to stare into the terrified wizards face nearly nose to nose.

"_I took an unbreakable vow..._" he began to stutter.

"_That's not going to matter once I'm done with you._"

Harry turned his back.

* * *

><p>The entire table exploded in a shower of brightly colored but short lived fireworks. Charlie's mouth gaped open as George crowed, Hermione's face framed by her hands as she stood shocked in the doorway. Charlie lifted a shaky finger to point at the charred tabletop in disbelief.<p>

"Those were _not_ normal exploding snap cards, you daft pillock."

"Umm.. oops?"

"George!" He cowered as Hermione stalked over to wallop him in the back of his head with a book.

"I'm kind of sorry?" Hermione made to smack him again at his sarcastic reply. "Okay, okay! I'm sorry! Yeesh. You'd think someone who works with dragons wouldn't jump at a little fire."

"When I'm at work I expect it, when I'm playing a game of cards I don't." Charlie fixed him with a glare, and when Hermione thumped him between the eyes with the spine of her book as George purposefully clacked his teeth out loud to overplay the light impact. Hermione huffed.

George, undeterred, knelt down in a courtly bow in front of her to take her book laden hand into his own as he pegged her with goose eyes. "My lady, a thousand apologies for offending thee with mine behavior."

"Oi!" Charlie booted him to topple over, rolling his eyes at the objection.

"Don't apologize to me, you pyromaniac, you're going to be the one explaining to Viktor how you demolished a table older than all three of us put together."

"A pyro-who?"

"Pyromaniac. Someone obsessed with fire and explosions."

George tilted his head with a grin as he dusted himself off. "I resemble those remarks. Easy there, mini-McGonagall."

"Charlie?"

"Yes, love?" Hopeful eyes, somewhat sinister grin.

"If you don't kick him, I will."

"Yes, love." His lips curled.

George shot into the hallway for his fifth impromptu patrol of the night.

* * *

><p>Vasilenko stared into Bills now brilliantly amber eyes in petrified horror as the wizard held him by the throat against a wall. They'd moved on from respectful questioning as all three lost their patience, both with his reluctance to work with them around his potentially lethal promise as his less than astonishing maneuvering to keep his silence due to the vow.<p>

"Please, I can't," he choked out in English, before Bill throttled him, tired of his begging.

"_It's simple. You have two choices. I can let him,_" he nodded towards Bill, and Vasilenko's glassy eyes followed his every twitch, "_take care of you. Or, you can give us as much information as you can __before spilling me a name and go quietly. It's your decision._"

Bill let go at Viktor's prompt, letting the wizard slide down the wall as he frantically gasped and choked in air to his oxygen deprived lungs.

"_Wolf, he's a-_"

"_Yes. Yes, he is._"

"_Oh Merlin. Merlin have mercy, Merlin have-_" The werewolf snarled, and the man quivering on the floor tensed as the loud exclamation seemed to echo in the room.

Bill had moved to perch on the arm of a chair, furious eyes following his preys indecision with dark amusement. He resented Viktor using his... condition... as a weapon, but it was times like this when his misfortune paid him back in spades.

"_But I didn't-!_"

"_You supplied that potion knowing full well it was intended for a target. You just managed to sell to wrong person for the wrong target to make a galleon. Tough luck, friend. You don't fuck with what's mine. You, of all people, should know that._"

Vasilenko shuddered, dropping his head into his hands with a ragged, gasping groan.

"_I needed the money. God help me, I didn't know._"

"Get out your notebook, Harry."

* * *

><p>"What in the world is it?"<p>

Both boys had crowded around her, sandwiching her in as she carefully unwrapped the sturdy looking parcel. Charlie had hit it with twenty revealing spells before Hermione had had done and elbowed her way in between the two to open the apparently harmless owl order.

Parting the unremarkable looking butchers wrap, she lifted the top of the crate to peer in at the bottles unveiled. Drawing out a letter she opened it blindly while reading the unfamiliar labels nestled neatly within. Turning from the open parcel to the letter, her eyes widened.

"Well, who's it from?" Pressed Charlie, impatiently.

"It's from Snape's apothecary," murmured Hermione absently, her attention focused entirely on the contents of the spiky text before her.

"Professor Snake?" snickered George, trying to grasp the letter out of her hands until she stomped on his foot.

"That's _Mr._ Snape, actually, he doesn't teach anymore."

"Oh-ho, Mr. Snape is it?" Drawled Charlie, as Hermione blushed deep red and tossed her hair in irritation.

"Oh no, brother, it's Severus to Hermione here, didn't you know?" Charlie's eyebrows rose to meet his hairline at George's allusion, and Hermione fairly hissed as she folded up the letter before shoving it into an inner pocket of her robe.

"We correspond, don't be a prat, George."

"So that's what they're calling it these days," Charlie ducked as she threw a couch pillow in his general direction before moving to unpack the well padded box.

"He's a potions master, I'm a healer. His expertise is invaluable when I'm researching certain conditions, and there isn't a master anywhere near his skill this side of the continent and you know it." Hermione's nose was primly ensconced in thin airspace, all disdain and vexation.

"I'm sure that's why he sent you hand brewed perfume for Christmas last year," snickered George.

"And just how do you know about that?"

He gulped as Hermione fixed him with a cool glare. "No comment."

"So Ginny then."

Charlie snorted as George's ears tipped red, giving him away. "Kinky," he quipped.

"Is _everything_ about sex with you two?"

They eyed each other before looking back, George, pretending to be coy with a hand on his hip stepped up to the plate.

"We're male. Silly question, princess."

* * *

><p>"He's dead."<p>

"Bollocks. Fuck. Just... Dammit." Bill searched fruitlessly for a pulse to no avail.

Blood dripped from the wizards ears and mouth in trails of vivid red against his pale skin, but it had pooled under his chin from the seeping nose bleed that had begun as they'd begun to press him for more detailed information. They'd started by asking him roundabout questions, asking him for vaguely strung together details until moving on to more substantial and direct lines that lead towards a motive without giving away any names. As the information revealed had gotten closer and closer to giving away that name Vasilenko had begun to bleed internally. He'd clutched at his stomach, complaining about a headache as he'd attempted to stifle the tell-tale nosebleed, begging them not to press him for his clients identity for the fact that thinking it about made his heart beat out of his chest.

But Viktor was relentless. He'd pushed, cajoled and threatened until Vasilenko had spat out a name quickly under his breath before toppling over like a sack of potatoes, so fast and slurred that not even Bill's enhanced hearing had caught anything but the first syllable. Whether his heart had given out or he'd suffered a brain aneurism was anyone's guess, but the outcome remained the same; their one and only source was now stone dead. And he'd killed himself deliberately withholding the information they'd been so desperate to obtain.

Viktor let out a frustrated shout, kicking a side table viciously as Bill throttled the lifeless wizard before pitching his body onto the floor in his own fit of anger.

"We'll toss the place. There has to be something here that will corroborate with what we already know, or heaven help us, a fresh lead." Harry was agitated as he crouched down to survey the body from a distance, mentally running down the list of international laws they'd just violated in one fell swoop.

"Ve're so damn **close**," growled Viktor, incensed. Blood had dried on his fingers. They were sticky as he went to pull at his hair, and he took the time to rub at some of the browning claret that covered his knuckles. Prowling the room, his thoughts shifted into overdrive, frantically running through the evidence they'd managed to pump out of their now dead (literally) lead. Their culprit had been active in the Death Eaters during the war years, specifically during the last two years of Voldermort's reign of terror. In military terms, as he'd often used to rank his so called comrades, the wizard had been a sergeant to his own rank of lieutenant, only slightly below his own status within the pit of despots he'd served with. They'd carried a personal grudge for his own actions in the same organization. The wintergreen itself was a clue, but he didn't know why they'd used it. He'd wracked his brain trying to come up with a correlating experience that would shine some light on its significance but he'd come up empty.

"Bill, check for hidden storage areas in the walls and what have you," came Harry, calm and logical. "You're not going to get anything out of him no matter how hard you kick."

Bill snorted, nudging the body with his boot one more time for good measure before moving on to scour the room beyond the parlor, wand drawn.

"I know vone place. I'll look. Tell me if you find things, I'll translate," Viktor managed to grind out. Harry threw him a curt nod before he started the necessary containment spells. The Bulgarian aurors were not going to like him after this escapade was over.

Viktor stomped up the steps, looking for the private study he knew lay behind a false bookcase. Vasilenko had, at some point in their brief association, entertained him and several others over for a 'business meeting' that had mostly taken place in the out of the way nook in superfluous secrecy to cater to the now deceased man's paranoia. A few quick spells and he'd forced his way through Vasilenko's sloppy wards; the man ironically had never been thorough with his protective magic despite his worries. And many other things, he remembered to his tremendous displeasure, as he surveyed the layers and stacks of of parchment that littered every flat surface in the cramped little room. The mess put Harry's office to shame. As he began to pick through the teetering paperwork on the massive desk that centerpieced the room, he began to despair. Had the wizard never thrown anything away? Half an hour flew by as he tossed parchment after parchment onto the floor, finding nothing that was relevant.

Then, like he'd feared their entire excursion, his wrist began to burn. Cursing wildly, he shrank and pocketed the documents that had been lumped together from the war years as well as several heavy looking ledgers before tearing down the stairs. They'd come for her.

* * *

><p>"What's he like?"<p>

"What do _you_ think he's like?" Shot back Hermione, bemusedly. They'd had the man as a professor for most of their childhoods in one position or another, it wasn't the most intelligent of questions.

"Now. I mean now. Has he changed much? I would think getting mauled by a man eating snake would change a bloke. Even Snape." Charlie downed a dose of Vitateserum, coughing at the chalky flavor of the vitamin tonic before passing it over to George for his own pull on the powerful enhancer.

"He's brilliant. But I don't think that's really a change, I just don't think I ever really noticed exactly how brilliant he was until I found out that a full quarter of the potions patents currently in circulation throughout the U.K. are registered under his pseudonym. He's R. K. Boyle." She'd deliberately skirted around the more obvious and more intrusive answer that Charlie had been angling for, not wanting to gossip about her reticent quill-colleague. He deserved his peace, from her lips at least.

"As in, patented R.K. Boyle? Hells, that's the byline for half of our medicine cabinet at home." George sputtered, both from the Vitateserum aftertaste and the shock that he'd been drinking his shady ex-professor's concoctions nearly since birth. R.K. Boyle had patched them up quite nicely after too many explosions to count over the years, all in all it was mind numbing.

Hermione shrugged, pouring out her own dose into the shared teaspoon before swallowing it down with a determined gulp. With a brief reminiscence to a childhood memory of Mary Poppins, she shoved the spoon into the nearby sugar bowl before chasing down the less than savory aftertaste by licking up the clinging sweetener. Both men bit back groans.

Then Charlie stiffened, sitting up ramrod straight as Hermione pinned him with a concerned gaze.

"What. What is it?"

"You don't feel that?" He'd unholstered his wand, George twitching his from his sleeve as Hermione began to feel the prickling of something against her skin in dawning comprehension. Magic roared in her ears, and the candles flickered as the windows shook in their frames.

The wards were falling.

Then all went dark and silent.

* * *

><p>Viktor tore through the woods, focusing on the temperature of the heat emanating from his betrothal band with concern as Harry labored to keep step behind him. Bill raced through the trees ahead of them, streaking at an incredible rate before stopping short as Viktor hurriedly altered the wards. Bill hissed, watching the tendrils of magic twist and separate to reveal tampering obvious to his well trained eyes. The werewolf drew his wand and hastily latched on to the magical signature before running to catch up after Harry and Viktor, both of whom had ran ahead as soon as the wards slammed back up to full strength.<p>

Stopping suddenly, Viktor hauled Harry to a standstill before shoving him in a different direction that they'd been running. Bill skidded, stopping hard for a second time as he growled his aggravation at the pause.

"Potter; take East. Veasley; Vest."

With the abbreviated instructions, they parted, wands at the ready.

* * *

><p>Hermione pressed her face to the glass, squinting, before running out of the room full tilt to peer out the windows in the room across the hall. Charlie had bolted down the hallway as soon as the illumination enchantments had failed, shouting at George to stay put as his brother had struggled with a protesting Hermione.<p>

"Can you see anything?" Whispered George, gruffly, as his fingers twitched to pull her away from the window.

"Yes."

And then she was running, racing through the hallway to a floo connected grate as George yelled after her, pulling at his hair before missing her purposefully with a stunner. Lunging, he grabbed onto the back of her robe to piggy back as they raced towards the main entrance, fireplaces speeding past them as George cursed his inability to raise a wand to the self reliant witch.

* * *

><p>The gravel was soaked in blood. Viktor stopped, panting as he trained his wand on the dangerous animal in front of him. Though, if his instinct proved correct, the true threat had already been neutralized.<p>

He spotted Charlie in the distance, who sent up a flare from his wand as he ran, signaling that the beast was friend rather than foe. The massive dog seemed to grin at him as he sank to his knees despite the mess, gasping for air, watching in irritation as the shaggy black canine wagged it's tail like nothing more than a proud retriever over it's prize.

Charlie, only slightly less out of breath, collapsed beside him as he took in the gore with disaffected interest. Though, Viktor supposed, watching a dragon tear apart a cow for dinner every couple of days probably inoculated a body against the revolting mess of a body torn limb from limb. It looked like the mongrel had latched on to it's throat and shaken the thing to pieces. The slight decomposition of the body did nothing for his stomach, however. You never forgot the stench of an overripe corpse after first scent, and it wasn't something he'd wanted in his nostrils yet again during this lifetime.

"Inferius," gasped out Charlie, prodding at a bit of residually twitching flesh with his wand before incinerating the gory leavings for good measure.

"Da," was his less than elaborate response. He dragged himself up, intending on making a circuit of the grounds until he realized that the uncomfortable warmth between the skin of his wrist and the heavy band was conspicuously missing. His own heat rose in his breast when he watched the front door of the cottage slam open as Hermione sprinted towards them, stepping out of a robe as George tried to yank her back through the threshold by a sleeve.

"I told you _**stay in house!**_" He was aware that he was shouting, and then that Charlie was on the ground as he elbowed the other man's warning touch off his shoulder when he stumbled towards her in a blind rage. "_Vbesyavasht zhena_, listen to me for _once in your life_, the danger-!" His hands caught her as she stumbled over a loose stone on the walkway, crushing her to him despite the gore and filth that covered his knees as he shakily perused her body for injuries. Then she was torn from his grasp before his vision had cleared and he'd had a chance to apologize for roaring his displeasure at her actions.

"Don't you yell at her, _**whelp**_." The last was spat in menacing snarl, the mans voice rasping as he stared him down with grey orbs that glinted like knives. The dog was gone, and in it's place stood a haphazardly dressed wizard in biking leathers, his chest bare as he draped his heavy jacket over Hermione's shoulders as the witch embraced him, mingling his own black curls with her chestnut locks. The tattoos were telling. Prison tattoos. A man's life story etched into skin.

"Sirius Black." It was more of an accusation than an inquiry of personage.

The older wizard actually _winked_ at him as he buried a caustic grin in _his_ witches hair, breathing deeply as Viktor fumed.

"Now, now, Captain Red; kitten has claws, you can't expect her to not to use them." He took heart when Hermione smacked the well built man in his gut for patronizing her despite the admonishment. Bill had only just jogged into view, taking in the scene with a grisly smile as he locked arms with the ex-con while Hermione scowled at the both of them.

They'd only met twice, both times by association through Hermione, and both times they'd gotten in a pissing match over the witch just as they were now. It had been a near miracle he'd met the man at all, as Hermione had once explained, since his restoration to the waking world the last Marauder had become something of a shut in. After spending a good portion of his life in a cramped cell in Azkaban, the paranoia of being hunted down after his prison escape, then whatever existence lay beyond the veil; Sirius Black had an admittedly mild case of agoraphobia.

The moment Bellatrix Lestrange had fallen during the Battle of Hogwarts, Sirius had stumbled out of the Veil at the Department of Mysteries insensible and completely unaware of the war that raged outside its walls. According to any and all records Hermione had dredged up, he had been the only wizard or witch to encounter the artifact hidden within the Death Chamber and survive to tell the tale. Or not, as time had gone on, much to the Ministry's consternation. Slightly bent and mostly broken for months as he loomed over Harry's sickbed like a wraith, Sirius had kept his secrets to himself. After his false imprisonment, the ministry had little with which to sway the wizard into parting with whatever knowledge he'd gleaned from his brush with the beyond, but try they did. He wouldn't budge.

He'd taken up residence at Grimmauld place, slightly round the twist but ever full of the Black family pride it had taken a full nervous breakdown over a slamming door to get him to accept Hermione's offer to help. She'd been the one to track down the keys to a long forgotten Black family estate on a remote and tiny hidden island near Ynys Lochtyn in Wales (Harry had inherited everything upon his majority), giving him some semblance of a safe haven to escape to after Harry had woken from his coma. Much to everyone's surprise, he'd settled himself into quiet obscurity despite an offer of a teaching position by the Aurory. Rarely did he venture out of his self imposed exile, and Hermione and Harry were the usual motivation for most of his excursions.

"Sirius, stop baiting him." Hermione pulled the well worn leather further around her to ward off the cold, appalled at the half naked man's utter unconcern with the frigid air as she cast a warming spell on him and herself. Sirius quirked an eyebrow and huffed, as if to say that it had been unnecessary. They didn't exactly hand out winter coats to prisoners in Azkaban, and the body eventually became hardened to the constant chill.

"Sirius!" Harry stumbled, stopping to pant and gasp for air as Sirius ambled up to wallop his godson on the back. He coughed. "That's... ergh.. that's not helping, thank you very much." Sirius chuckled as the out of breath wizard pulled off his glasses to double over breathlessly. "Thank Merlin I had you stick around. What a mess."

"Well, it didn't taste very good. I can tell you that much."

"Oh _please_ tell me you didn't kill it while you were transformed. That's just-" Hermione's face twisted in disgust as she attempted to express the magnitude of revulsion she had for the idea. Sirius's ever fixed grin turned malicious.

"They're undead. They don't attack anything but humans or whatever they're programed to attack by their controller. Sneaking up on them as a dog? Safe as houses." He shrugged, then chomped his white teeth before shaking his head furiously as he mimed tearing out the throat of the now doubly dead inferious, howling with laughter as Hermione shoved him with a perturbed groan.

"You're repugnant. Where's your shirt, anyways?"

"Used it to clean up. I'm not one for licking my paws. Is there any way we could adjourn this little tête à tête to somewhere indoors? I'd like a proper wash, if possible." He fluttered a bloodied handkerchief with two fingers daintily, and Harry snickered. It was then that Hermione noticed the streaks of scarlet that trailed down his neck and splattered near his hairline. Disgusting. Just disgusting. Sirius looked cagey, shuffling his feet as he threw longing glances between Hermione and the open front door, and she wondered how long he'd been roaming around the grounds by himself. "I must say, mon chaton, it didn't put up much of a fight. Pretty weak for a full on assault. Someone went through all the effort to get through those wards in advance; I would have expected something a little more lethal."

Viktor stilled, and Bill shot him a knowing look. Grabbing Hermione firmly to his chest as his gut churned with the possibilities, he gave in to instinct and ruthlessly plundered her lips before gently pushing her towards the growling Marauder. "Take care na moyata veshtitsa _on your life_." Both men glared at eachother, Sirius snorting with disdain at the slight against his protection of the young witch even as the Bulgarian staked his claim. Hermione sputtered and Viktor cut her off before she could even start, seething in her frustration with both smothering males as Sirius wound his arms around her from behind. "Harry," he called out as the bespectacled man groaned, and they started off towards the edge of the wards again at a clip.

But Viktor's gut had yet again proven his suspicions correct. When they arrived back at Vasilenko's, the stately manor was engulfed in flames.

* * *

><p><strong>Translations:<strong> _ Vbesyavasht zhena –_ Infuriating woman,_ mon chaton_ – french for 'my kitten', _na moyata veshtitsa_ - Of my witch

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the wait. This has been mostly written for roughly two weeks, I just couldn't manage to eek out an ending. Seriously. It took me something like an entire three days to finish a single page. Frustrating, so very frustrating. The reviews in the meantime made me sit down and get down to hard tack to finish. Guilt is a wonderful motivator, and I do so love a nice ego boost, lol. This fic is too near completion for me to abandon it, I have too much time invested. Sometimes it's just a slow go fo it when I can't figure out where I want to take a scenario.


	18. Chapter 18

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Eighteen**

Ronald slammed the door, ripping off his gloves as he muttered under his breath, stamping his boots free of snow. Hermione turned and glared daggers from beside him at the purposeful clamor, brushing snow off of her hair with cold numbed fingers.

"Would you just quit? Look, we left early. What more do you want from me?" Ron's exasperated tone was the icing on the cake. Hermione exploded, pent up bitterness at the nights events too much to bear.

"I _wanted _for you to spend some time with me. _Me_, not your goddamn quidditch buddies. I _wanted_ you to take me out to a romantic dinner after I caught you staring down _Parvati Patil's shirt_ during an interview. I _wanted_ you to make it up to me." She poked a hard finger into his chest.

"Don't you poke at me like that Herm-"

Hermione continued without stopping for a breath, grinding her point into his pectoral with every stressed word. "What I _got_ was a courtesy dinner-out at the local pub where you spent the entire time fucking around with your mates at the bar while I sat at a table eating dive food _alone_." She pushed him with a frustrated shove as he tried to grab at her hands.

"Hermio-," he began to growl in agitation as she cut him off yet again.

"So the next time you take it into your head to do me any favors, you unmitigated _git_-," he lashed out as she shoved him again, pushing her away from him so hard that she dropped her purse on impact as she thumped her head against a now precariously tilted painting. He leaned in, all hard muscle as he took her hands, shoved up against him in defense, and dented the plaster as he slammed them into the wall beside her head.

"Don't you _shove me _Hermione Granger. Don't you _poke at me_. I was trying to do something nice for you, you jealous _bitch_. I told you that wasn't what I was doing and then went and tried to make it up to you for something that never even happened. And look what it gets me." He thumped her wrists against the wall to prove his point, snarling as he shouted into her face. "Tell me. _Why_ should I even try."

Hermione's eyes began to water, torn between her own beliefs and the resulting anger and the guilt that was now consuming her conscience. This was how it was. How it always was. Why couldn't it just work? Why couldn't they work?

"That's what I thought. I'm done. I'm not like this, you _know_ I'm not like this." His excruciating grip on her wrists tightened. Her heart began to race. "We're done. I can't deal with this. You're a nutter, always seeing things that aren't there, accusing me of things I don't do. Always nagging. I'm not putting up with this." Oh god. Not this again. He let go of her restrained wrists, letting her slide down the wall in painful realization as the tears she'd been holding back dripped down her cheeks.

"What? You _told_ me you wouldn't do this again. _You promised!_ You can't blame this," she gesticulated wildly as she yelled, "entirely on me!"

He shook his head, grabbing at his gloves as he began to button up his coat.

"No you don't, _no. you. don't._ You're not walking out on me again, dammit." Her sobs had turned hysterical, her entire form racked as she fought with the feeling that the entire world was ending, watching in disbelief and he drew his gloves back on and turned towards the door. "You _always_ walk away."

His gloved hand impacted with the door frame before he spun, ripping her hands away from him as she she dug her fingers into his coat to pull him back from stalking out into the night. He was going to leave her alone. Again.

"It's because of **you**. Everything's always _my_ fault Hermione, and I'm fucking sick of it!" He shook her, disgusted with her tears.

"I'm sorry," she moaned, anger giving way to placation in hopes of preserving their relationship. "Please... I'm _sorry._" She wept.

His enraged face blurred.

Hermione jolted awake, gasping for air.

* * *

><p>The nib of the quill caught the lip of the ink well as he dipped in to refresh the reservoir, nearly tipping it over; he caught it with clumsy fingers before it spilled all over his efforts. He cursed. Viktor rubbed his chin, heedlessly smearing ink on a sharp cheekbone as he tiredly scratched at his days growth of beard. It was late, well into the dark and dim hours of the morning, but sleep was lost to him as he scribbled out every minute detail they'd now gathered thus far. Methodical and exacting, he knew that laying out the entire web of interconnected clues would help to ease his overloaded mind before he went sifting through the small pile of documents he'd snatched from Vasilenko's before it had been torched.<p>

He needed that information well cataloged in his brain before he went digging for similarities. He'd already flipped through most of the loose parchment once and nothing had jumped out at him, but he remained undaunted. The entire lot would be picked over with a fine tooth comb by the time he was finished. Something, anything that would give him another lead or jolt his stifled memory into tying together someone that fit the bill for their culprit.

He jumped, startled out of his reverie as a soft hand smoothed his worry creased brow.

"Viktor, go to sleep. You're burning the candle at both ends." Hermione's reprimand was soft, sleepy dulcet tones that were enticing as her clever hands worked into his hair in a light massage. He let out an unconscious rumble of satisfaction as she moved to work at his cramped shoulders. Tension fell away in sheets as she knuckled and dug into knots, his shoulders slumping forward in the chair as he further gave way to her ministrations. Rolling his head back, he leaned into her shoulder to look at her as he drew her arms around him, pulling her against the chair and himself.

"Vhy are you avake then, hmm?" He teased her, blowing at her barely there fringe that fell in wisps across her forehead.

She yawned, leaning her cheek against his before edging back to brush his hair back into place. "Bad dream. Can't get back to sleep now."

"Bad dream?" His eyes narrowed as he focused on the list before him, toying with his quill. She hesitated.

"A fight I had with Ron a long time ago." Hermione sagged onto the table as she withdrew to sit at the chair next to him, leaning over to lay her head on her folded arms.

"About vhat?"

She shivered. "I don't even really remember." She cast him a sleepy smile, sidestepping the question.

His empty hand curled against the edge of the desk, gripping it tightly.

"What are you writing?"

"Notes on vhat has happened today and before."

She nodded, letting her mind drift back to the days events. Her subconscious was more than likely to blame for her lack of sleep, dredging up well buried memories of abandonment after the shock of Viktor throwing her to Sirius in order to vacate the cottage grounds like a bat out of hell. Logically, she knew he was running back to whatever informant or lead he'd tracked down before the Inferious had dragged them off track, but there had been a small, icy tendril of despair that had welled within as she watched him race out of sight.

When the three wizards had returned home, covered in soot and refusing to answer any of her questions, she'd snapped. Ranted, raved, and lectured as they stoically refused to back down. Harry's guilty look told her that something nasty was involved, and she'd wanted, _needed_ to get to the bottom of it. She had always been the strategist, the researcher, and it was killing her that she couldn't be a part of the investigation of incidents that threatened her very existence. Charlie had ended up playing therapist for her, sitting her down to tea and dessert while the boys had cleaned up as she'd vented her frustration on an indulgent ear until she'd felt in control of her emotions.

She stared down at the paper, trying to puzzle out the Cyrillic before eying him in displeasure. He raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips. The language barrier had obviously been intentional. Something turned over in the pit of her stomach, as it had earlier, telling her that whatever had occurred hadn't been up to the Aurory Standards of Comportment. There had been something in his eyes, glinting out of his face in sharp contrast to the grey and oily grime that encased his features, that spoke to her yet again of the war and things left unsaid.

Blinking tiredly, she scrutinized his face before relaxing back onto her arms, snickering. "Tch, you've even smeared ink all over yourself, sleepyhead. Can't seem to keep clean today, can you."

Viktor peered down at his fingertips, embarrassed to find them smudged with black. He rubbed the offending mess against his trousers before dragging his knuckles searchingly across his face. His rattled conscience twisted at the unintentional double meaning of her words.

Peaking over her arms she laughed, helplessly, as he missed and missed again, further streaking his reddening face with his dirty hands.

"Oh, stop that. Here. Let me." Standing she lifted up the hem of her robe, grasping his chin with gentle hands as she angled his face towards her. She quietly murmured a cleansing spell before soaking the corner with water from her wand, gently wiping away the residual oil left behind. Closing his eyes, he let a shudder echo down his spine as she cleansed him in more ways than one. Her fingers slowed their rubbing, trailing down his lips as her hands fell away from his face, and he opened his eyes to gaze at his redeemer.

She was staring at a bookcase to their right, hand still loosely gripping her robe. Her eyes seemed distant. As if she was someplace very far away.

"Hermione..." His voice was ragged, and he reached out to caress her cheek with a thumb as he watched those same eyes turn liquid at his touch. "Look at me."

She exhaled harshly, pinning him with a half sincere smile as his own lips turned down after taking in her half hearted reassurance. Moving to trace her lips, he pulled her into his lap for a chaste kiss to her brow, settling her against him as she slid to straddle the chair. He took her face into both hands, holding her still as she went to bury her face into his shoulder.

Their features were so entwined that they nearly breathed in tandem, his breath slipping out of his lips into her own, inhaling as he exhaled. Staring into her eyes, he waited until her body relaxed as much as she'd pushed his to. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he leaned in for a gentle kiss. Leaning back, Viktor took in her closed eyes, gaze roaming hungrily over her slack expression before he groaned and folded his arms around her as she collapsed onto his lap with a sigh.

Hermione let his hands trail up and down her spine, soothing away the last remnants of her memory filled dreams. Those fears drifted, barely a fleeting thought as Viktor engulfed her senses. Her head fell back with a gasp as his mouth settled onto her neck below her ear, huskily murmuring foreign words that sent tremors through her awakening body. Freeing her hands from their position against his chest, she shifted her knees on the chair beneath him, raising up to lift his chin and lips to her own. Viktor's tongue was heaven, darting past her lips as he clutched fiercely at her curls before he leaned her back, grasping at the table to move his papers before sending them scattering to the floor as he swiftly rose to set her atop the immense oak table behind them.

Peeling off his now stifling tunic, he paused a few paces back to stand before her, breath catching as he took in her disheveled nightdress and kiss bloomed lips. He fairly choked as she teasingly lifted the hem of the modest garment to her thighs as her robe sagged from her shoulders, revealing pale milky skin that had his fingers trembling. But it was the slight tilt of her gaze away from him, the shy blush as she wet her lips that had him stripping out of his undershirt as if it was on fire.

Her body clenched, shivering against the cold room as she watched him tear off his last covering, breath quickening even further as she saw his taught musculature ripple with his terse motions. The healer within had felt felt guilty and slightly disgusted with herself at the same reaction when she'd tended to his wounds after his fall, but now she was free to drink her fill of his solid torso. Curse scars were scattered across his bared skin, and his Dark Mark stood out against the turn of his forearm. His eyes darkened even further as he caught hers lingering, loosening a button on his trouser placket as he began to stalk towards her purposefully.

She shifted to the edge of the table, meeting him halfway as he approached, barely able to unbutton to her neck before he pounced. Her back met the table as his hands slid up her gown, tongue hot and demanding on hers before he moved to sink his teeth into her unblemished neck. She keened, his fingers slipping under the edge of her knickers to clutch at her hips as he began to slowly grind her into the hardwood beneath them.

Their pants and gasps echoed in the otherwise silent room, both lost to pleasure until, in the distance, a door slammed. Hermione stilled beneath him, freezing even as he pressed desperate kisses to her brow. Viktor paused to pant against her temple, letting the rest of the world filter back into their own, before leaning back with a sigh.

"We... I can't," she began unsteadily, but Viktor pressed a finger to her lips with a knowing smile.

"Is okay."

Showers on the good ship Durmstrang in winter. Yearly physicals with the team medic. He bit back a stab of passion straight to the hilt as she shifted to reveal his teeth engraved into her skin. Gods. His Grandmother taking the waters in the Dead Sea. Smoothing down her hem, he began to re-button her nightgown, kissing the now rosy flesh above each button as he trailed up to her lips. Chastely pecking; once, twice, he moved to gently lift her off the table onto her feet after pulling closed her opened robe.

He watched as she began to button up the thick material of her houserobe, smoothing back a few curls with trembling hands before she leaned in for one final, lingering, kiss. His eyes nearly burned out of his skull as he watched her curved form's swaying retreat to the floo. Groaning, he adjusted himself before sending one more longing glance at the fireplace. Viktor instead gathered his scattered parchment, pulling on his tunic before exiting the room, the door clicking softy shut behind him.

* * *

><p>Just down the hallway, grey eyes glinted in the moonlight and the last surviving Marauder stared him down as he reclined against a hallway sideboard. Soft black sleep pants were tucked into his motorcycle boots, his upper half covered by a decadent looking white lawn sleepshirt. He exuded casual elegance with a ragged twist.<p>

"What did you vant?"

"I'm quite certain that I don't know what you're talking about." Taunting. Teasing. The wicked grin sent in his direction told him that the other wizard knew _exactly_ what he'd interrupted. The whitened grip on his biceps, arms crossed as his eyes bore into him told him further of the unrepentant nature of the animagus's motives.

Viktor pinned the older wizard with an exasperated glare. The man had knowingly ruined the one good thing to come out of the previous nights fiasco. He was quite understandably put out.

"You don't deserve her." He had shifted to examine his wand with an intensity that made even Viktor draw back a bit internally. While he realized that the man had been falsely convicted, his time in Azkaban had done him no favors as a member of the house of Black. He practically radiated dark magic when riled.

"I know," came his clipped response.

"Good. Keep that in mind." He clapped Viktor sharply on the back in a half friendly gesture. "Now, let's get a couple of things straight. If I find out that you've treated her anything like Ronald bloody Weasley, I'm going to rip your intestines out through your nostrils and floss your teeth with them. Mind you, if I were ten years younger, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Viktor bit back a snarl at the possessive gleam in the other wizards eyes as a tattooed hand casually rubbed at his jaw. Instead, fed up with the witches near boatload of overprotective male friends, he bit back out of exasperation.

"I don't need to be varned by you or anyvone of your mates, _krastav pes._ I vill cut off this hand before I do such a thing."

Sirius looked, looked good and hard at the Bulgarian wizard's stoic face and wan complexion, flexing his runes once more before dismissively moving on as his hands dropped from their menacing twitch.

"Second is that while I think the little miss might not need to know _absolutely everything_, I do. I damn well spent near my entire life living with or hunting down dark wizards. You're not going to shock me with anything. But you are going to get us all nice and dead by keeping this shit to yourself. I _know_ you haven't laid it all out in the open. So spill, son."

Viktor immediately found the Persian runner entrancing as his baleful glare settled to the floor. He opened his mouth, no sound emerging, before he clenched his fists as he took a giant mental step back.

"I'll tell you tomorrow, after I have everything sorted. I need time to think."

"This can't wait. Quit stalling."

"Vhy should I tell you, then?" Anger flickered then died as he watched a stoney wall descend over the previously expressive man's face.

"Because I can anticipate their devilry just as well as you, _boy_. You need a mirror, I'm it."

The younger wizard cast around for some way to wiggle out of the situation, but quickly fell short. He knew, innately, that it was necessary to tell someone within their circle a more detailed account of the event that he was now more than certain was the catalyst for his current situation. He just hadn't expected it to be this particular person to pull the story out of him. Though, he supposed he should have. Hermione had told him once that he had a way of lulling people into believing he was as shallow as a deep puddle, until you fell into his depths.

Resigned, he slouched back to the study he'd previously been entrenched inside, attempting to ignore the gleeful revelry that spread across Sirius's face as he trailed along behind him. He flopped back into a chair at the study desk, Sirius settling across from him, wand stuffed back down into his boot. Viktor leaned in to hunch over the table, phantom pain crawling up his arm from his faded tattoo.

"I..." He forced himself to continue, "it vas vhy I left. The Death eaters."

* * *

><p>He was, on no uncertain terms, courting the tightrope without a balance. The eventuality that he was going to be dragged out of a Revel one day and Cruicoed to death was never further from his mind than when he was working, despite the burden he carried mentally. Hermione had once likened the entire struggle between Voldemort and his victims to the muggle's second World War, and Viktor being Viktor, he'd gone out and and procured enough literature to literally read into the parallels between the two conflicts. In the process he'd ran across a singular quote from a muggle soldier, spoken by a commander to a reluctant subordinate, and it had forever altered his perception of how to assimilate the atrocities as they accumulated by his hand.<p>

"_We're all scared. You hid in that ditch because you think there's still hope […] The only hope you have is to accept the fact that you're already dead. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner you'll be able to function as a soldier is supposed to function. Without mercy. Without compassion. Without remorse. All war depends upon it._" _**_

And that was how he'd survived, forsaking all hope of emerging from a hell of his own making. He'd thrown himself into use, lapping up every scrap of information he could glean and washing his hands in blood in the process. The facade was complete. Because how could one deny what was, in truth, entirely factual? The deadening of his conscience was a necessity. It had also become a crutch. His disregard for his own life brittled his awareness of the danger to his family.

He'd grown accustomed to the whispers, the half hidden rumors of his relationship with the 'unclean'. Hermione had merely become part of his cover, a clever ruse to insinuate himself even closer to the upper echelon on the off chance that he would, one day, reel in one of the Golden Trio with his tentative ties to it's witch. He'd made the ties to exact upon them later, on Karkaroff's insistence. They'd fallen out before he could utilize his pull. It was all too easy to fabricate. He hadn't had word from her in over a year.

Then, like aconite to carbolic acid, everything had exploded in his hands. For weeks, they'd been suspicious of a leak. And for weeks, he'd lead them on yet another merry chase through the lists. Many of his fellow soldiers had something to hide from one another, and he preyed on those weaknesses for all they were worth, subtly throwing suspicion on a few truly monstrous wizards in the ranks below him.

It descended on him like a Dementor from the darkness, sucking the life out of him in one prolific pull.

"_I have something of yours,_" he'd whispered, deep and foreboding into his ear one night as he'd stamped his feet in some misbegotten wasteland they'd settled on for a quick meeting. "_And you have something of mine._"

* * *

><p>"The codex."<p>

Viktor's head snapped up, shocked that the other man knew what he was referring to.

"Old Moody filled me on bits and bobs before he bit it during Reconstruction. When Hermione mentioned that she'd started writing to you again I did some digging." He shrugged as if it was a completely normal response to gather reconnaissance on a ex-war-allied pen-pal.

The codex had been a turning point in the spy versus spy atmosphere of the magical community before the final battle. It had, in effect, allowed them to whittle down Voldemort's overwhelmingly superior manpower as they were finally able to decode and act upon intercepted messages that detailed troop movements. It had turned the tide, though still wildly outnumbered it had given them a fighting chance when the end had finally struck.

It had also been a piece of intelligence that had cost him very, very dearly to acquire.

"Yes. I took it from a man called Lukanov. Idiot vas alvays misplacing things, neffer thought he'd figure it out but he did."

"The man from the photos?" Harry had taken the liberty of briefing Sirius before his arrival, which ultimately had proven helpful but had also left Viktor incensed at his playing fast and loose with details that weren't to be shared with just anyone.

"The same." Both men reflected darkly for a moment, before Viktor picked up where he'd left off. "He took Ivanka to hold for ransom, thought I'd nicked it for blackmail. I didn't haff it to return."

"So they found you out."

"They found me out," parroted Viktor, without feeling. It was numbing, thinking about the damage he'd done. He'd thought he'd made peace with that ghost. After tracking down the last ties to that collapse he had tried so hard to bury his mistake with Ivanka, but the task was near impossible what with his blunder currently having been so neatly thrown back in his face... but with a vengeance. "Those photos... like Ivanka... she vas treated so." He stumbled trying to express himself, past the horror and lingering pain that accompanied the conversations change of direction.

Sirius's eyes flickered with bitter understanding, and the men shifted awkwardly in their seats as the previously concealed knowledge sunk in. Many had guessed, came close to the truth, but verifying the sordid mess set it all in a different light. Viktor swallowed hard, gaze shifting towards the flickering flames of the fireplace before moving on.

"Seven men. But they are dead. Very, very dead." The connotation was clear. His knuckles were white, clenched and bloodless as he moved them under the table from view. "I keep track of the families, lovers, after var ended. Noffing. It is not them."

The older man slouched, tipping his curls back over the chair back as he stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. One hand worked at his goatee, stroking at the grey tinged scrap.

"Simple is as simple does. The two are related. Someone is not only recreating that event, but building on it. Slow fear. Dragging out the agony after their quick revenge scheme failed and they liked the taste of it." Sirius tented his hands, leaning forward to stare at the ragged looking Bulgarian. "You're missing someone. It must be someone close to your Ivanka's death that you're overlooking." The statement was so matter of fact it was almost insulting.

"I _know_ that," hissed Viktor, ire raised.

"Are you... sure you got all of them?"

"Yes. I look through their memories. _All_ of them." Sirius nodded approvingly at the statement.

They were at an impasse. There was always the possibility that he'd been wrong about the family and friends of his victims, but it was highly doubtful. Viktor was nothing if not thorough. The approach itself also seemed off to have been something designed by the few related people who bore watching out of that group. The entire scheme smacked of indecisiveness.

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Hermione does not know that the two are related."

"What, your sister and this mess?"

"Ne, the codex and my sister."

An understanding passed between both wizards. Viktor had never intended on Hermione finding out the true cost of that information. The master code had been something _she_ had insisted existed in the first place, and she had been correct. While anyone remotely in contact with supporters of Voldemort had been made party to the search, the fact that he had found it and that it had cost his sisters life and nearly his own was not something that he wanted on Hermione's already overburdened conscience.

"Close the gaps and check your intel. There's little else to be done." Sirius rose, dusting off his shirtsleeves before leaving to complete his watch, leaving Viktor to resume his notations in silent contemplation.

He had two days.

* * *

><p><strong>Translations:<strong> _krastav pes – _mangy mutt

****Accreditation: **Band of Brothers, spoken by Lieutenant Spiers

**Author's Notes:** I'm so sorry for the mistake in updating. I've been having some issues with , and when it didn't update properly I didn't have the time to tinker with anything that day. I decided to take some extra time to do some more editing after the frustration of having FF mess with everything, -_-;; I'm a procrastinator at heart. A super huge thank you to PerfectDisaster22, Venetiangrl92 and Kyria of Delphi for sending me messages to let me know about the updating issue. I have a tendency to update right before I go sleep after editing and re-editing, so sometimes things slip through my fingers.

I know everything has been pretty action heavy in the more recent chapters with few exceptions, so I wanted to drag this chapter back into action according to main crux of the storyline [Viktor and Hermione's relationship]. The arc with Ronald is also obviously on the sideburner to be finished up at a later date, but I wanted to expand on that a little as well. That trauma hasn't disappeared, Hermione is just doing her damnedest to push it out of her thoughts with all the life threatening events that have occurred thus far.


	19. Chapter 19

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse, sexuality)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

_Disclaimer no. 2:_ This chapter contains graphic content of a sexual nature thus earning it's M in spades. If you're at all squeamish, be prepared to skip over certain paragraphs.

**This Once: Chapter Nineteen**

Birds were chirping. Their cheerful song broke into the warm haze of Hermione's slowly sharpening senses, rousing her from a sweet sleep that she hadn't supposed was possible lately. Her feet were trapped among the blankets, or so she thought until a cold nose pressed against one foot. When she went to kick them free she found her arms engulfed by the weight of a massive, shaggy beast that had no business being in her bed. She threaded her fingers through his fur, scratching him behind the ears as he hemmed and hawwed before she quickly grabbed his muzzle in an unmistakable gesture that had been oft repeated in the days after his return.

Sirius shifted, moving his cheek into her hand as his form returned to man, stretching out his limbs before pulling her close despite her moue of displeasure.

"Sirius?"

"Yes, love."

"What do you think you're doing in my sheets?"

"Keeping you warm, kitten. You were shivering, and I live to serve." Nightmares, more likely. He'd crawled into bed with her, unable to stomach her quiet whimpers after stumbling back to rest upon having completed his turn on watch. He always slept better in his animagus form anyways, and Merlin knew that he'd crawled into her bed himself as many times to stave off his own demons. Completely platonic, of course, he told his brain, well aware of the stirring in his heart. Or trousers, to speak of his current problems. While his dreams were less tormented as a dog his thoughts and reactions swiftly took a more complicated pull in direction after shifting back to his true form.

"I don't suppose another blanket would have sufficed?" He curled a wicked grin in her direction as she sighed. "You have ten seconds to vacate my bed, Black."

He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to her brow, grinning as the skin crinkled in agitation underneath his lips. "Used wisely, then."

Hermione took one look into his unfathomable grey eyes, drinking in the Black family graces, before shoving him to roll off the bed and onto the floor. He fell in a graceless slump, having taken the covers with him, a half pleased with himself smile anointing his Satan's saintlike features. She shook her head.

"If you insist on sleeping at the end of my bed like a deranged lapdog at least you could learn to grovel properly. I still don't understand your fascination with warming my feet."

"All the better to keep the undead from my mistress fair," he quipped, brushing himself off as he retrieved his boots from under the bed, pulling them on as he sat on the edge of the mattress. He paused in his tugging as if deeply in thought before his head titled towards her in exaggeration. "You do have lovely ankles, my dear."

"If you're remotely implying that any woman could hold your leash I'm going to laugh my nonexistent bollocks off." She lay behind him, one hand propped on an elbow as she watched him tuck his thick sleep pants into well oiled black leather, taking in the fading ink on his back as he pulled on a shirt before turning to pin her with a raised brow.

"You got me a dog collar for Christmas last year, love, complete with return to owner tags. I'm yours."

"It was a gag gift," she deadpanned, completely serious.

"Whatever you say, love," he sang back.

"Enough with the endearments today please, Viktor will have your skull for a tankard if you don't watch yourself as it is."

"Of course, love."

She growled, and he tweaked her nose before abandoning the room as she rose to find her wand. The dead to the world snores told her that the rest of the boys were still recuperating from their midnight prowling, so she did her best to collect her things and leave the room undisturbed. She wondered how long they all could last with the hyper-vigilance they'd imposed on themselves.

All Hermione could do was hope for a quiet morning to balance out the cumulative shock of the night before. Caught up in the dust wrung from Sirius's booted departure, a tickle of her nose slammed into an impressively loud sneeze.

A still half dozing George lifted his head before rolling over with a loud groan. "Hermione, love? Go back to sleep."

Charlie lurched up in bed with his wand drawn, frazzled red hair askew.

Hermione sighed.

* * *

><p>"I could swear it wasn't on there." Harry blushed. While he'd mostly gotten over the debilitating lack of common sense necessary to meet the ex-potions professor head on over such a detail he was still prone to honest embarrassment when confrontations occurred. And an oversight of this magnitude was indeed embarrassing on many different levels.<p>

A muscle ticked in the irate mans jaw, though he made little other concession to his obvious displeasure for several tediously drawn out moments. Long boned fingers reached out to grasp the small stack of parchment held in Harry's hands, deftly flipping them over before violently slapping them down on the countertop in front of them. Most of the rooms occupants, save Viktor, flinched at the sudden outburst. Snape rammed his forefinger onto the lone name revealed on the backside of the last sheet in the stack.

"Imbecil," he hissed, and Harry's face burned all the brighter as his half hopeful expression crumpled at the revelation.

"Why was it-?"

"It is in. _Aphabetical. Order._" He grit out, as if the explanation itself was actually painful to elaborate upon.

"Ah," came Harry's intelligent response.

"Ah," mimicked Snape.

Charlie did his best to stifle any laughter at the exchange, failing miserably as he couldn't help but chuckle at Harry's oversight.

"It was firebombed last night." Harry tugged at his coat, forcing himself to move past his crippling deference to the dark wizard.

"Unsurprising." Snape stalked around the room, packing like a caged dragon in his disgust. "The brewer?"

"Mŭrtŭv. An unbreakable vow of silence," was Viktor's terse reply.

"So you're at dead ends again."

"Quite," was all Viktor could manage. He'd spent hours pouring over the paperwork he'd swiped to little avail, the only names gleaned were extraneous to any Death Eater activity, or so it seemed. He had some loose ends to tie up, but he was short on time. It appeared that Vasilenko was as much of a bookkeeper as he was a strategist.

"Not a word. Not a whisper of a memory of a name?"

"Nonne that are a risk."

"Think boy. Use that space between your ears. Because you _think_ someone incapable makes them all the more dangerous."

That possibility continued to stalk his consciousness. He tossed and turned in his sleep despite his exhaustion, unable to fully rest as faces and lists of deeds filtered through his restless head. Everyone was a suspect. His list was filled with shallow graves and men languishing in Azkaban.

The past day had been spent tracking down dead leads he'd gotten from paging through Vasilenko's ledgers, as well as trying to disassemble how the culprit had torn through his wards.

Bill's diagnosis had been disturbing. From the way they'd created a pocket to slip the inferious through, they'd obviously been more than a little familiar with his wards. They'd known the impossibility of sneaking a live being through and worked around it. Chinik Kushtichka had been his safe haven from childhood. Precious few of his close friends and allies were even aware of it's existence let alone it's wards, making it all the more troubling that they had been compromised.

To all his suspicions, it seemed that someone on his list of eliminated friends was in fact less dead than he believed them to be. During the dark days when the war was at it's height it would have been child's play to fake ones demise, but that left him at even more of a loss as to any method with which to track them down. There were only a few who could have the know how to tamper with his wards, and if any of them weren't deceased as he thought he was in a worse way than he'd imagined when the suspect list was filled with militant death eaters. A friend was much, much more dangerous than an ally or even a common place enemy.

His hands whitened as knuckles clenched against each other. There was little else to do.

"Hermione thinks that ve should... have them out of hiding." Snape pinned him with a withering stare as he stumbled over his English, Viktor's hackles raising all the more. "That ve should plan to draw them out into an attack. Do you agree vith this?"

Snape paused to stand with his arms crossed in contemplation, eyes at half mast as he examined the Bulgarian's tense form. One bony hand lifted to touch his cravat for a split instant before he resumed his pacing of the boards.

"Frankly I think the idea holds merit. It's better to have them revealed in a controlled setting, a situation of your own choosing, rather than fruitlessly searching while anticipating an attack around every corner. It may be in your best interest to consider her suggestion." From his expression, though logic won out in the end, it was made obvious that Snape found the idea as repugnant as Viktor did.

He knew as much as it was laid out in front of him, but it was edifying to hear it from another man such as himself.

Snape continued, "Even if you had a name to give to the Aurory, I'd imagine you have little in the way of concrete evidence. Catching them in the act would be... ideal."

"Vhat makes you think I vant them to see Azkaban," rumbled Viktor, darkly, as the two men met after Snape rounded the table he sat at. The older man slipped into the seat across from him, steepling his fingers.

"You and I both know that Miss Granger would never forgive you if you did otherwise, so, forgive me if I assumed that you wish to keep in her good graces." He sneered as Viktor glared back, defiantly. Harry snickered from behind him. "I assumed that you needed my expertise for something other than rhetorical questions."

Harry cleared his throat. "If we bring you a body, can you match it to the... sample... we gave you before?"

"If you bring me a body with one shred of valid evidence as to his complicity, Mr. Potter, I'll write you a case for the kiss myself."

The bell attached to the front door jingled, and Charlie jumped up from his windowsill perch to edge out of the way when the customer entering went to divest himself of his sodden cloak. Viktor gaped, taking in a disheveled Draco Malfoy who promptly took a step back as green eyes bore into his own soft grey. Harry had shot off the countertop in suspicion once he caught sight of the ex-Death Eater's white blond hair. Draco's face contorted before morphing into an icy calm as he stepped around the other men to address the proprietor.

"Uncle Severus."

Snape nodded at his deference. "Draco."

Without further ado, Draco stepped into the back room. Snape turned, surveying a fairly twitching Harry with a keen eye before pinning him with a warning glare.

"Now, if you don't mind, I have a business to run." He stood from his seat, and turned to follow his godson into the workroom without a backwards glance, leaving the three wizards to see themselves out as they were unceremoniously dismissed.

"What the hell was _that_?" Bit out Harry in a loud whisper, yanking on his long coat distractedly.

"Stop before you even start, Potter, he hasn't followed along after Daddy Dearest for years now. You're off track." Charlie was disconcerted despite his objections to Harry's line of thought. Something seemed heavy between Old Snape and Malfoy Jr. Hermione had practically written him novels out of frustration throughout the boys 'conversion' during his mother's treatment, and while he trusted his Hermione's judgment, he had half a knut of a galleons trust in Draco Malfoy.

Viktor was silent in his own ruminations as they walked out into the pouring rain, the door tinkling shut behind them.

* * *

><p>"How's it done then?" Charlie had sprawled out on a rug in front of the fireplace, poking at the wood with a spell as they settled in for an impromptu strategy session in Viktor's master study.<p>

Hermione closed her book with a snap. "Gingerly, I suppose." Viktor rolled his eyes from his seat beside her, staring into the flickering flames. "Pick a place, fill it with undercover aurors, make it known we'll be there through the proper channels...," she shrugged. "Harry?"

He was pouring over lists of aurors, flipping from page to page, periodically flipping back to the cover sheet as he examined their credentials. "It's more of a 'where's it done'. The only multiple hit was through quidditch, but that was all planted well in advance. It wasn't a timed attack."

"I vant to know how they attack vhen ve vere in sofia. Ve had not planned on that trip."

Harry paused in his scribbling to lift a hand to his glasses as they tilted down his nose. "If I'm right, they probably have informants or lookouts watching your movements."

"If you don't mean a proper accomplice, then wouldn't someone think that's a suspicious thing to be hired to do? I mean, honestly." Hermione's disbelief was evident, morphing into a moue of displeasure as Harry snorted.

"He's Viktor sodding Krum, Hermione. You might forget his name's plastered all over the World Cup, but the rest of us haven't."

Viktor let a smirk grace his previously scowling features, Charlie and his brother duly snickering at Hermione's expected huff. Harry continued on, blithely ignoring the side commentary.

"It's not uncommon to have paid informants planted in high traffic areas that report comings and goings to the news publications."

"S'how the papers do to catch their snaps, I'd suspect," tossed in George, lip curled alongside his brother's smirk.

"As if no one could buy a bloke off to bloodhound a man, be he poor or rich," was Sirius's contribution. The Marauder had settled himself thrown across a wingback armchair situated in the corner of the room facing the windows, eyes closed as he played with his shirtsleeves. He'd wisely stayed behind for the London excursion to Snape's apothecary. While either wizard was in no way actively out to get the other after his return from the fabled drapery, putting them both in a room together and expecting them to be civil was something beyond expectations for such a long lived rivalry. Bad blood was just as thick despite any time past between the two.

"Same broom, different handler," shot back Charlie, and Sirius shrugged in concession.

"It'll take a week to get everything in order, maybe more depending on where we're going to do the setup. We'll need to scout everything out first, for escape routes, and make marching orders once I get this lot vetted," Harry prodded his quill at the stack of parchment he'd been flipping through.

"Everywhere I can think of has too much potential for collateral damage," mumbled Hermione, uncertainly.

Sirius rose as an owl neared the window, Viktor following suit as the seeker opened the window for the unexpected delivery.

"He's going to draw a crowd no matter how you play this, Hermione."

"The larger the crowd, the easier it'll be for us to blend in, love." Sirius plunked back into his armchair, eying the scrap of parchment the owl had dropped as it suddenly burst into flames in Viktor's hands.

"It seems ve have time." His dark eyes rose to meet Hermione's. "According to that, whoever it is has left the country for two veeks."

"How... convenient." Sirius looked skeptical, even George and Charlie shot one another dark looks at the reassurance.

"I don't trust it, at the very least it means we best put wand to waving and one up the bastard," sniffed George, moving to flop down beside his brother from where he'd sat next to Harry at the table.

"The quickquill sender?" queried Harry.

Viktor nodded, looking to Hermione as she sighed anxiously, before shutting the window with a bang.

"Somehow this doesn't bode well for the duration." Hermione had opened her book again, staring sightlessly at the print as she spoke aloud what most everyone in the room was thinking.

* * *

><p>It was well into the evening before Viktor was allowed the chance to explore his suspicions. The ever deepening bruises under Viktor's eyes had sunken further, and she'd very nearly given him a true black eye when he'd snuck up behind her without a noise. Hermione had been ready to slip a sleeping potion into his tea as he worked in the now headquarters like study, and she'd taken a swing at him instinctively when he'd cornered her in a hallway as she was walking to retrieve some clothing from her erstwhile room. They were all jumpy despite the letter received earlier in the day, and had decided to keep with their current sleeping arrangement for safeties sake.<p>

"Merlin you gave me a fright!" One hand rested on her heart as she gasped for air, looking on guiltily as he rubbed the cheek her blow had glanced off of.

"Vhat do you know about Draco Malfoy now?"

"What on earth do you mean, Viktor?" Inwardly, she was immediately on the defensive, having had this conversation in numerous different incarnations with too many of her friends to count.

"He vas at Snape's today. Vas... odd, acting odd. Vhat does he do vith himself now?"

"To my knowledge he manages his families investments." Viktor gestured for her to elaborate, so, with a quizzical look at his severe expression, she did. "He's rerouted a lot of the old funds to new organizations, putting new money, clean money into the old coffers. That kind of thing.

"I think he spends a lot of time puttering around with Severus and his apothecary too, helping out with new brews. Why?"

"Are you certain?" Viktor's face was stern as the old master himself.

"Yes, I'm very certain," she bit out at the rhetorical question.

"I get a bad feeling. Not right vith him; today. As if he's up to somefing." Viktor still looked unconvinced, and Hermione bristled at his dismissal of her information.

"Draco's always up to _something_. But it's nothing to do with whatever you're thinking of, Viktor." She sent him a rather severe look, entirely firm in her opinion of the newly minted man. She'd been hard enough to come by a good opinion of Draco herself, and she'd be hanged if she let Viktor convince her otherwise. She'd had to all but talk the younger Malfoy down from catering to her as if he owed a life debt after everything she'd done for his mother and himself. She understood the hesitancy, but it was _slightly_ insulting that he didn't trust her on the subject.

"I can trust no vone but those you trust." He bowed slightly over her outstretched hand that he'd taken, begging placation despite the uncertainty he continued to feel for the former Death Eater, a man he barely knew other than through secondhand acquaintance, and what he had known was nothing to speak of in polite company.

"What is it you're not telling me Viktor? I have a terrible feeling that there's something you're keeping from me, and that it's important knowledge for me to understand what's going on. You're leaving me out of things and I _don't_ like it."

He dropped her hand to pace in front of her, five steps a piece as he ran his hands through his hair before turning to face her with shuttered eyes. He took her hands into his own and brought them to his lips, kissing them reverently even as her eyes stared into his black soul. She still hadn't a need to know, and despite all the cajoling by Sirius he wasn't yet ready to tell her.

"Please do not ask vhat I cannot tell you." There was a hint of begging in his voice. She didn't like that.

She nearly stuttered at the refusal. "But Vikto-"

"Noffing that vould put you in anymore danger than you already are. I vould neffer do that to you." He caressed her hands, pulling them to his chest as he schooled his face for her benefit. "There are dark things that you know I haff done. I vould not burden your soul vith them."

When she hesitantly went to question him further, he let one of his large fingers move to press against her lips, telling her intimately that he would go no further. Her tongue itched to lash out at his holding back, but she knew that her insistence would only injure his conscience further than he did himself. She would have to find out another way.

They had been murmuring, light whispers against the echoing hallway before Viktor conceded to their need for privacy and gestured towards her room. Placing his hand at the small of her back, he lead her to the door like a gentlemen, pausing to swallow dryly before crossing over the threshold of a room containing a bed and no chaperones. His blood still thrummed from their encounter the night before, and he knew it would be dangerous to shut themselves in alone. Turning indecisively, he shut the door softly, then opened it again to purposefully leave it cracked a few inches.

Hermione sat at the vanity, while Viktor resumed his restless movements about the room.

"Where do you think we should choose to stage things?"

"Maybe a quidditch publicity event of some kinte. I'll talk to coach, see vhat I can do. The events are vell known to press before, so, ve lay down a scent for the basterd." Viktor paced, willing himself to give words to what was on his mind since he'd fallen off of his broom and shattered both his body and pride.

"Hermione..." There weren't words enough in the English language for him to say what he was about to broach. "Hermione, if something should happen.."

"What?" Shock, shock and sliver of fear. The implications were not something that she wanted to contemplate, even with their current situation.

He stopped pacing, standing still for a moment as he stumbled over words in his head, "I vant you to have this. All of it. It's alvays been yours for the taking anyvays." It wasn't like his parents needed any more gold in their coffers, and he'd be hanged if he left Hermione in the situation she was in currently.

"I can't possibly.. Viktor, damn it, we're not going to talk about this." She rose from the small chair to twist around his body, heading to look out the window in order to calm her racing heart.

"We'll talk _now_. It's been close enouff times for this talk." Too many close calls. He'd sent Allestes an owl about updating his will the day after they'd left the ministry.

"For Godssake, Viktor!" She'd hunched over, forehead pressed against the glass as he followed behind her to press a broad hand to her tense back. She whirled to look him dead in the eye with a maniac glint, firing off in kind out of retaliation. "Then promise me this, if I die," his lips tightened into a sharp, pinched scowl of rage, "If I die, then can you promise me you'll move on?" She pushed back, shoving with her words.

Dead silence stretched out between them, and several seconds ticked by before he drudged up enough courage to tell her what she didn't want to hear.

"If you die... then I vill follow." It was only the truth, however wrong and unchristian the sentiment.

Hermione made a choked sound, lips trembling as she glared at him in full fury and knowing torment at his confession. She pushed his hands away as he reached for her, watching the icy flames build in his eyes at her pain.

"Don't you _dare_ say that to me. Don't you dare think for a _moment_ that I'd want that."

"Vhat is _**left **_for me after you die, vitch? You vant me to lie instead? That liffing vithout you in this vorld vouldn't kill me surely? _**I am yours.**_ How could I surviffe that." He struggled not to ball up his fists as she shrank back away from him at the admission, shaking her head.

"Swear to me, Viktor." Her voice broke on the words. His phrasing echoed back to her in another voice as if Ron was right there in the room, a reflection of two men, piercing her heart and bleeding it dry while simultaneously filling it with sickly kind of tenderness for his constancy. Like night and day, in the end.

"I vill do no such thing." She reached out to trace the lines on his face, pressing a brush of fingers against his taught brow with an anguished look that had no place being on his witches face, but he couldn't bring himself to lie to her. He was certain that he wouldn't survive her death. It had been torture enough trying to forget her, in thinking that he had been allowing her her happiness, let alone in the knowledge that she was somewhere truly beyond his reach.

"This is madness." Arguing about things that may or may not happen, things that mightn't have happened even if they weren't in the situation they were reduced to. Hermione wanted to shriek at him, rail and beat on his chest for even thinking about such an ending, for even making her aware of his stupidly male intentions if she managed to bow out before he did. She didn't want anyone's death on her conscience, let alone Viktors. "_Madness._"

He passed a over his face to collect himself, before turning to cradle his brow against her neck, hands reaching up to brace himself against the window frame as he loomed over her small form. Hermione shivered at the contact. Viktor seemed to be warring against himself, breath heaving from his chest in a shuddering sigh as his hands gripped at the wood behind her. The distance that had separated them for so long had never seemed more insignificant. She _could_ picture herself as mistress of this house, making a life here. But not without Viktor beside her. It would be a small and empty comfort to have a house and nice things but no one to share them with. Ron would never have..

"I feel I've damned you and myself, svetlina. But I _von't_ giff you up." He deep voice sunk into her distrust like balm to her wounded heart, and she shut her eyes against the sight of him moving to pull her away from the window she'd backed up against, drawing her into his arms. The wool of his traditional tunic scratched softly against her cheek, and she closed her eyes to focus on the steady rise of his chest beneath the well worn covering. She felt the matching band that encompassed his wrist press into her back, and relaxed further into his body heat. This man was different. He might be mad, in his own way, but he was _different_.

"Your guilt is misplaced, Vitya, I have just as many wizards after my head for my own-sake. I've told you enough times."

His hands tightened around her, his magic battering around inside him at the thought of her long list of enemies to take the place of the one they hoped to rid themselves of.

"Some days," he started, pausing in his musings as he inhaled her subtle perfume with a heady sigh, "Some days I vish to take you avay. Back to our mountain and neffer let you leaff." He plucked at the collar of her indigo piped robe, reveling in the small intake of breath she took as he moved to stroke at her sensitive throat. He'd moved them back towards the windowed alcove, setting her atop the narrow windowsill, and the glass was cool against her spine as he gently tugged cloth covered buttons from their stays. Her questioning whisper turned into a gasp as his hot mouth settled against her uncovered skin, teeth and goatee scraping as he rose to hesitantly open her mouth to his. He stopped, withdrawing to mouth his words against her lips. "Do you remember? Tell me, luff."

"How could I ever forget you Viktor," she stuttered, at first, not feeling the least bit confidant in talking about anything sensual. "I've never forgotten." Heat was pooling in her belly as he licked and sucked her sensitive skin knowingly. She fought to contain a needy moan as he lavished her throat at the join beneath her chin that sent her legs quivering, a spot Ron had never managed to find despite all encouragement. It was as if he'd mapped her body all those years ago, and now he was taking a grand tour. "I've dreamed..."

"I have dreamed of you," his voice trembled with the force of the feeling behind the sentiment. There had been other women, yes, but none of them had surpassed her in his memory. It had been an open wound, something a quick tumble in a broom closet couldn't hope to heal. "I have dreamed of you for a _lifetime_."

Viktor crooned as her skin flushed, pinkening at his touch, and he drew back to darken in satisfaction as he watched his love bites bruise to mark her as his. He wanted her damn pack of wolves to know that she was his own. Befriending only boys during her formative years had spoiled her for realizing the nature of men's affection, and he was loathe to alert her to the competition that had come to surround her, however respectful and distanced her male friends might have kept their affections. He had won. These were his spoils. There wasn't a chance in hell or Hades that he'd let her go this time after having her in his bed once again.

Hermione pushed at his chest, and he released her only to have his arms drawn up into the air as she began to yank off his tunic. Ripping at the looped buttons with shaking fingers, before grabbing the hem instead to throw both the tunic and his undershirt over his head in one fell swoop, he grinned at her before moving to more gently pluck at her buttoned wrist. Hermione panicked as he freed her arms, pulling back before she noticed the stumbling withdrawal in his attentions as she balked. She swallowed her fear, stripping out of her robes to stand in thigh high stockings and underthings without any cloth to hide behind.

Viktor's calculating eyes zeroed in on her bared wrist, and he extended her marred forearm with an enraged hiss. No matter the potion or spell would mask the scar; despite Hermione's research, she had found nothing that would diminish the hateful tableau left behind from her impromptu interrogation with Voldemort's she-devil.

"Name?" he snarled, "Vhen?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange, when we were caught by the Snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor for interrogation." She was uncomfortable with anyone looking at her arm, but made no attempt to pull from his grasp, her voice soft and reassuring in the face of his muted horror. Accepting his scars was one thing, expecting him to accept hers was something else entirely_._"She's long dead, Viktor."

He pressed against the long line that trailed up her belly into her brassiere with fearful wonder.

"Antonin Dolohov in the Department of Mysteries." She shied away from his growl of displeasure.

He caught and held her gaze with intensity, watching her pupils dilate to cover her amber irises as he brought her mangled arm to his lips with a kiss. She smiled wanly, allowing him to soothe an old hurt. Ron had shied away from that arm, whether from guilt or otherwise, she'd never really wanted to know. He kissed his way up her pale arms, whispering a quick warming charm that buffeted her chilled skin with a tingle. She felt silly standing there before him in her damp knickers and everyday bra. They weren't even a set.

"Luff?" He tenderly traced the line of her brastrap, brushing his fingers against her peaked nipples that stood against the plain white cotton of her brassiere as he errantly smoothed her wild hair out of her face. Her hands rested against his hips, toying with the fabric at his waistband with twisting fingers. "Do you vant this?" He wrapped his arms behind her to unclasp the hook and eye deftly, fumbling as he went with the awkward garment, but at her silence he stilled his hands for her response and simply held her instead.

She further pressed into his arms, listening as his breath caught when his length flattened against her stomach, his fingers tightening around her shoulders.

"Yes."

She wanted him so much she ached. Watching the cords in his neck bunch as he attempted to rein himself in, his hands divesting her slowly to reveal her curse scarred chest had her lightheaded with need. She itched to dig her hands into his hair and pull his lips to her own, but instead she let him take control. He lowered his mouth to her breatbone, placing kisses down her scar before mouthing onto her body through her panties, delicious heat pouring through the fabric onto her sex with each breathy exhalation, hands sliding up under the waistband at the sides.

Suddenly, there wasn't any hesitancy left for her to draw upon. "Yes!"

His eyes were flames, smoldering as he went to draw down her blue sprigged briefs, gently lifting them off one foot then the other, pressing kisses to her ankles as he went. Then he slid up her body with his mouth, leaving a trail of shivers as he memorized the lines that war had left on her soft skin. She stood before him now, clad only in unbearably arousing black thigh high stockings and _his_ betrothal band.

"Let me in, Hermione." He needed to ask, he needed to be _sure_. Her legs trembled as she shifted, moving to kiss him tenderly, telling him without words. He ran his hands up and down her shoulders in comfort, parting to gaze into her face, smiling gently as the endearments began to absently flow from his lips. "Ah, mila..." he moved, picking her up gently as her legs wrapped around his waist out of instinct, pinning her against the nearby wall. "Moyata prekrasna... so beautiful.." If this was all he could ever have of her, he'd have been blessed. The thoughts of impermanence fled his mind as his fingers met the soft flesh of her breasts, and he worshiped them with his mouth to the song of her gasps of pleasure. His hands trailed up her thighs, and at his behest, they parted for his questing fingers.

Teeth were grit as he fought down the urge to take her against the wall; she deserved better. He let out a tortured groan as she tilted her hips to welcome his touch, nails digging at his back as she nearly climbed up his tall length to reach her peak. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough. He dropped to his knees to part her curled thatch, and she let out an affirmation of wonderment as he lowered his mouth to her nub. Calloused fingers curled. Her hands found his muscular broad shoulders to steady faltering legs as he suckled and worked her into a euphoric ecstasy, his already constricted trousers becoming nearly unbearable in her splendor. She unraveled before his very eyes, and he wished he could bottle every second of it.

She came with a cry. _His name_.

Viktor lifted his wet lips to watch her shudder, body convulsing with pleasure as a single hand steadied her swaying form, fingertips still working inside of her to prolong her orgasm. He only withdrew when her seizing body began to relax, kissing his fingers before laying his hand across her breast.

"Svetlina..." She sank down the wall to collapse at his knees at his endearment, one hand rising to cover his own slick digits. "Before.. just... that I am still somevhere vithin." He pressed his hand firmly against her heart, asking the terrifying question he'd been aching over for longer than she'd ever know.

Her heart swooped at the tender words, the romantic heart of the wizard who was so unlike Ron in his regard. She dug deep, thinking for a breath before responding in kind.

"I never stopped lo-", mid sentence she was halted as his lips swallowed her words, pressing her back against sheets that she hadn't noticed materializing behind her as he had been slowly carrying her across the room. The bed curtains promptly descended from their suspension, falling around them like floating feathers to throw their intimate scene into shadow, and Hermione couldn't help but smile at the touch of romantic magic as Viktor lopsidedly grinned at her like the schoolboy he once was.

Viktor stood on his knees to shimmy out of his trousers, hurriedly stripping his boots off as an afterthought as he tangled himself in his own rigging. Hermione bit her lip as his now matured erection bobbed out of a clutch of ebony curls from his efforts, and he turned to pounce on her with a raised brow.

"Think is funny, vitch?" He licked his lips, shivering as she raked her fingers over his chest and pectorals. He grinned as Hermione let out a peal of laughter. She giggled as he nuzzled his hooked nose into her hair.

"No, no... just, you've.. or maybe, I've, grown up." He snorted at the implication, drawing more laughter from her as he trailed his fingers against her sensitive sides.

"Who is this from?" Her hands had found the worst of the scars on his front, a jagged line that splayed across his taught stomach. Her eyes found his softening at her guilty inquiry. He responded to satisfy her inquisitiveness with flippancy to lighten her burden.

"Alexander Panev. Make my insides fall out, da? I move before it hits vhere it should." Her fingers continue their exploration, feeling the ropey lash marks on his back with sad eyes as he stroked her cheek consolingly. "Vone day, you know them all. And I vill know yours."

He pulled her hands away, kissing them, before leaning in to recapture her lips. Their faltering passion built once again as his tongue tangled with hers, fingers roaming her body as he pressed his length against her and her own hips bucked up to greet him. He sighed into her mouth as he slid against her, slick and inviting from her previous orgasm even as he began to stoke the fires once more. Viktor drew back to watch her face, positioning himself with an errant hand. She moaned for the sudden loss of contact, crying out as he thrust inside her with a hiss of his own, reveling as his heavy silver band tingled on his wrist with satisfaction.

Hermione's eyes widened impossibly, and he watched, enraptured, as she gasped and shuddered at the invasion of his second thrust. He promptly bent over to restrain her hands as they scrabbled for purchase with his own, pinning them to the bed above her head, then laced their fingers together as she struggled instinctively. He stilled for a moment lowered her head to look into her eyes, feathering her with kisses as she relaxed, willing her to trust him. Beginning again slowly, biting his lips as her breath hitched with each thrust, he began to lose himself. Hermione's hips arched into him, the enveloping heat washing over his body as she shuddered with each slide of her body against his own.

"_Hermione,_" he growled in a throaty murmur, drinking in her small cries of pleasured torment as she twisted underneath him. This was where she belonged. The sounds of their joining echoed in the small room to give voice to their nearly silent lovemaking, the bedclothes crumpled underneath them even as the curtains swayed in time to his movements. He moved her hands to be held by one, reaching down to splay her still stockinged legs further apart, pressing them to the coverlet beneath him. She fairly wept at the heightened sensation.

"Anyone there?"

Viktor clamped one hand into her mouth as he slammed into her, rearing up to catch her eyes as his own flamed. She bit into Viktor's hand in realization, stifling her cries as Charlie's voice drifted down the hallway. They hadn't remembered to shut the door let alone cast any silencing spells, and she hoped that Viktor's head was clearer than hers to remedy the situation. She couldn't string words together let alone reach to draw her wand from her discarded robes. Viktor's slow, patient, thrusting stilled for a half breath, and she literally felt his magic shimmer over her as he whispered a wandless spell in the door's direction. It slammed shut, lock bolting itself loudly as a silencing spell settled over the room. She thanked every deity she knew in the split seconds of clarity allowed by the intrusion.

She allowed her head to tilt back with a throaty murmur of appreciation at his quick thinking, and he moved to twine a hand into her hair as he picked up the pace, Hermione shifting to wrap her legs around his body. He licked and bit at her throat, bending her under him to match his undulating hips as he pressed deeper to her depths, nearly rasping at her sob of delight.

"_Mina. Edinstvenata mi, sŭrtseto mi,_" he choked into her curls, babbling in his mother tongue as he let himself slip past senselessness.

"Ah.. ah, Viktor, ah, ah _God_..." He let go of her hands to fall on his elbows on either side of her head, wrapping his forearms under her curls to embrace her even as he thrust deep within her body. Their passion was building her peak a second time, the slow tightening in her belly pooling into a thousand pinpricks of pleasure as he tenderly, fiercely made love to her, whispering ardent snippets of Bulgarian even as she lost herself in the act.

"Come vitch, e_la pri men sega_." He leaned back, reaching down to find her flower out of desperation as he felt his own restraint grow taught. Her tight body had eroded his self control, and he shook as he slammed against her, fingers jerking against her frantically so she would join to him completely as one. "_Doĭde!_"

She exploded, keening as he choked on his own groan, falling to his elbows once more, done in by her grasping body as she reached her orgasm through the stars that burst behind his eyes at his own. Hermione closed her own orbs at the warmth flooding through her channel, raising her arms to rake down his perspiration slick back as he shuddered through his orgasm. He pumped lazily into her as she clamped down on him through the shuddering aftershocks, showering her face with kisses as he panted down from his high.

He rolled onto the bed beside her, pulling her prone body to rest on his shoulder as they both caught their breath. His fingers trailed against her spine, and they lay together in the afterglow silently for several minutes before Hermione propped herself up to kiss his lips with a sigh.

"Da, mila?" She smoothed her fingers down his lips, before rolling over to slide off the bed to look through her things scattered across the floor.

"Just need the loo."

Viktor gave her a soft smile, face gentle in the candlelight as his long body lay stretched out over the embroidered coverlet. His raven black hair was tussled and slick against his damp forehead, and a sheen of sweat glittered against his chiseled body. Set against the backdrop of the carved poster bed and framed by icons of Saint Philothea and Saint Zlata, Orthodox saints he'd whispered to her of while reading from gilded manuscripts, he looked nothing more than like a thoroughly ravished Czar. She smiled at him, gathering her robes and wand from the floor, then turned and fled into the bathroom hidden among the staring haloed saints.

As the door closed behind her, she flicked her wand to silence the chamber before bursting into tears.

* * *

><p><strong>Translations: <strong> _Mŭrtŭv _– dead, _Moyata prekrasna_ – my lovely, _Mina _- mine, _Edinstvenata mi _- my only, _Sŭrtseto mi_ – my heart, e_la pri men sega –_ come to me now, _Doĭde! _- come. Super huge thanks to Ziminar for correcting my truly awful Bulgarian.

**Author's Note:** I had that scene with Sirius stuck in my head for hours before bashing it out, the same with Snape and his alphabetization. Oh my God, I giggled while thinking it up. I'm a sad, sad person sometimes. Oh well.

Smut for my for teased regular readers! See, I rewarded you! LOL, I felt bad after last time. Please, please let me know if you find any errors. I kind of rush-updated this since I have a full week upcoming (I'm having surgery and a couple of other stressful things), so, I appreciate the help. I'm constantly reviewing my work and tweaking things when I find errors, so it's invaluable to me when they're pointed out by my dear readers. I can't believe how long this chapter stretched, oi me.


	20. Chapter 20

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse, sexuality)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Twenty**

The smoke hadn't yet cleared the area, but he'd already screamed himself hoarse from yelling after her. It was fruitless. Every time he pulled her close to himself in the echoing darkness, the moment their skin touched, she melted into the air and drifted away from his desperately grasping fingers. Her gasping choked his heart as he stumbled in the wreckage left from the wall decimated by spell damage behind them. He roared, falling to his knees before reaching-

Viktor bolted upright, chest heaving. Dim sunlight, red and orange tinted as the molten ball that gave scant warmth to the slowly freezing grasslands that surrounded his compound began it's slow march heavenwards. Careful not to wake the others as he pulled on his boots and cloak, he peered at Hermione's blanket covered form closely before trailing through the hallways towards the grounds, hoping to clear his mind. The dream saturated his thoughts, adrenaline still coursing through his veins as he puffed misty clouds of white into the frigid expanse encompassing the path to the South Gardens.

He found himself at a stone bench, facing the unnatural blood red roses that bloomed out of season in the heart of the frost covered wonderland. The cold stone beneath him did little to distract him from his growing anxiety as he lowered his face into his hands, groaning at the possibilities, the abstract and the implied meanings that could be pulled from his uncommonly clear and memorable night terror.

* * *

><p>Ginny bustled in through the double doors of the great room as Harry fussed with her coat, shedding her gloves as she went. At spotting a wan looking Hermione settled into a couch, she made a beeline for her friend, nearly shoving Harry out of the way as he attempted to gentlemanly divest her of her outer garments. Harry threw up his hands in amused defeat, shaking his head as he waved a hand in Hermione's direction before leaving the women to their diversions.<p>

"Hermione!" The redhead took her friends cold hands into her own, kissing both of her cheeks before settling herself beside the other witch with an ungainly plop. By the time she'd wrapped an arm around her sister by heart, Viktor had already appeared in front of them with a tea tray, his ever typical frown settled deeply on his face as he surveyed his witch.

Hermione was bundled up to the neck by a large throw, and her face was drawn and pale against the mid-morning sunlight. She claimed it was a potion relapse, from her bodies reaction to the poison leaching out of her system, and the Bulgarian had been ready to drag her to a healer until she gave all assurances that it was only draining her strength rather than anything truly detrimental to her overall health. He set the tea tray on the table before them, pouring a cup to press into his witches hands. Laying a large palm to Hermione's forehead, he worriedly looked her over once more before half moving to leave the two to talk, shifting uneasily at leaving her alone.

"You really shouldn't have come. It's too much of a risk," Hermione began to tirade before Ginny cut her off.

"Oh hush up." Ginny leveled the recoiling convalescent with a glare as she sized the situation up. "I've a better chance of falling off my broom and doing damage to myself than I have of being blown up here."

Ginny had begged Harry to see her friend after receiving a lengthy owl that morning, and her new husband hadn't had much trouble talking his defense minded and recalcitrant under the weather friend into the visit. Viktor himself didn't want to deprive her of anything in her current state.

Viktor placed a hand on the arm of the couch, shifting a pillow further behind her. "If you need anyfing-"

"I'll be fine Viktor. Thank you." He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before leaving the room with a backward glance.

Ginny raised a brow. "Huh. That's new."

Hermione moaned before turning to bury her head into her friends shoulder. "Oh God, Ginny, I don't know what to do."

"Well, I figured as much. Your note read like an encyclopedia having a breakdown. Care to decipher for me?" Hermione glared at her. "What. Are you even sick?"

"I think it's just stress and overdoing. I really am feeling under the weather, but I'll admit I overplayed it a little so I could get you here in person."

"Why the fuss Miss Logic?" Ginny patted her hand with an indulgent look as Hermione propped herself up in the couch corner against the armrest, flicking her wand to shut the door after Viktor had gone a safe distance down the hall for good measure. The bushy haired woman drew the heavy throw closer around her before casting a discerning glance at the shut door for fear of prying ears.

"I... I slept with him Ginny." Her voice was small in case of prying ears, as well as uncertain.

"You're upset by that? Did he-" Ginny's face tuned ugly, and Hermione hurried to reassure her.

"No! No, nothing like that. It's me, it's all me."

"You always say that and you're always wrong," the redhead couldn't help but point out, bemusedly.

"This time I'm not." The older witch seemed to crumble on herself, face despairing. "He's wonderful. And kind. And, I love him, Ginny. I really do love him!"

"Why are you acting so devastated then?" Ginny let loose a small laugh at her friends dichotomy. "If he's that wonderful why are you upset, you goose?" She soothed, fumbling to hand Hermione a tissue from her purse that she'd thrown on the floor.

"Because I feel like such a whore!" Hermione began to choke, angrily, because she knew that her gut reaction was completely irrational but could do nothing against the painful sounding that had invaded her blissful interlude. "I never thought I'd be with him again, and I always hoped for it because a part of me never stopped loving him, but now that I am I just feel like such a... a … Scarlet woman!" Hermione giggled tearfully at the old adage.

Ginny shook her head, bemusedly. "You ninny. Why on earth would you feel that way, especially when you _know_ it's not true. I mean, you know it's not, right?" Hermione nodded, sniffling. "Then what on earth would make you think that's even remotely possible?"

"Your brother... I mean, Ron, would always allude to any male friend I had contact with as if somehow I was constantly making passes at them or secretly wanting them between my sheets on the sly. Like I was two steps away from jumping into bed with another man all the time, and he needed to remind me that I shouldn't."

Ginny's face had taken on a look that could best be described as disgust tainted with pure Gaelic rage. "Well he would, wouldn't he, the little blighter. It's always the guilty ones!"

"Yes, yes I know that. But it still registered, you see? It made me paranoid. He hardly trusted me around his own brothers for Merlin's sake. I even stopped writing Viktor for nearly a year after the war, so he didn't have a reason to be jealous." Her fingers had twisted the tissue beyond repair, and she was left with shreds in her hands to play with in her discomfort. Ginny vanished them upon noticing. "And now I've gone and jumped into bed with him while the ink isn't even dry on his arrest warrant."

She sniffed, drawing a long shaky breath as she gathered her thoughts. "It feels like... It feels like I've gone and proved him right in the end."

"It's your right." Ginny's voice had turned hard at the unsettling clarity that Hermione had been made to suffer more lasting damage than a few bruises. "It's your right as a witch to take up with whoever you want as long as you're a free heart. It could have been the day after, _an hour after_ and you'd have been in the clear."

"I'm letting him ruin this Ginny, and I don't want that. God help me, I don't want that." Tears streamed down her face, and Hermione felt anguish well up in her belly to fuel the torrent of emotion that had gripped her since after their coupling the night before. They'd crept back to the nursery after holding one another for a luxurious hour, and she'd had to spell the tears away from her face to keep him from worrying about her. It made her sick to her stomach to lie to him like that about something that was so special, had been perfect until she allowed herself to ruin it in the end.

"Forget about Ronald. Forget about everything he's ever said." Ginny begun to pour herself a cup of tea, slopping the brew over the lip of her cup as she jerkily set it down onto a saucer. "He's not worth making yourself sick over."

"I just feel so wrong what with everything that we've been though, like I owe him something just for pulling me through the end of the war."

"You don't owe anyone a thing! He abandoned you! He _cheated_ on you!" Ginny calmed herself, fighting to keep from raising her voice again to break through the low level sound ward.

Ginny looked down in her lap before turning to look at Hermione with a strange look on her face. "I know that I'm not my Mother, but, I really feel like I should apologize to you for any pressure we might have put on you." As Hermione went to interject, Ginny cut her off to continue before she lost her nerve. "I know that everyone had this fairytale expectation that you and Ron would marry and live happily ever after, and I know Harry and I didn't help that with our partnering up so quickly. I should have said something to you. Done something when I realized how pear shaped everything had gone.

"Harry feels that way too. You should have seen his face over breakfast this morning. Like someone ripped his heart out and tossed it in with his porridge. He might be dense as a Hufflepuff sometimes, but I think he'd caught on to the fact that we've all contributed to where you are right now."

"I have no one to blame but myself Ginny." Her friend shook her head in denial, but Hermione would have none of it. "No, it's true. That's what guts me the most. I _chose_ to let Ron treat me like that. He was never anything but petty in school when things went sour, and when he left us sitting in the Forest of Dean I should have realized how easy it would be to abandon me in less dire circumstances."

"But we weren't there to stand up for you when he wasn't being supportive, Hermione! We ignored _everything_." The redhead felt sick at the fact that she'd been so close to both Ron and Hermione yet had so little idea of what had been going behind closed doors. It was supposed to be her prerogative as a friend. Ginny had few truly close female friends, and Hermione was the closest. She should have known. One of them should have done something to let her know there was an out.

She laughed, bitterly. "Do you really think I would have allowed you to do anything in the first place? That would have been admitting to everyone that Ron and I were having problems in the first place."

"Every couple fights. Harry and I fight too. It's part of life. Where's the shame in admitting it?" She stared into the spilled tea on her saucer as if it had the answer rather than look Hermione in the face. It was too difficult.

"I know that, but with Ron, everything was petty and vindictive. Everything I seemed to succeed at was somehow a threat to his masculinity, and every friendship I had outside of our relationship was competition. I felt like a prisoner of my own making. How was I supposed to tell you that, Ginny?

"About your own brother?"

Ginny shook her head in defeat.

"And the entire time," Hermione's voice shook, "the entire time there was a part of me that always wished I'd tried to rekindle things Viktor. It wasn't the same kind of love, you know? Where you feel alive like..."

"Like you can conquer the whole world and put up with anything for it?" Ginny smiled a half smile at Hermione's lovestruck expression, happy for her friend despite the sadness it was tempered by.

"I feel like I tainted my entire relationship with Ron from the start by comparing him to Viktor. And then I turned away from Viktor by choosing Ron." Hermione's head spun with guilt.

Ginny sighed. "This conversation needs more chocolate."

* * *

><p>"What are they nattering on, now?"<p>

Charlie watched, bemusedly, as his brother carefully fumbled with a grotesquely enlarged ear at the closed door, the ex-twin maniacally grinning at his own cleverness as he began to tune in on the should-have-been-private conversation.

Said inventor waved a hand for silence as he listened intently for several minutes before tugging the suctioned device off the door with a pop. He flopped down beside his brother on the floor, dejectedly. "How much they adore chocolate and biscuits."

"I'm blood related to you, and you're not even making a passable attempt at being convincing right now. Veela could dance in front of me and I'd still smell that lie."

George's shoulders drooped at the voiced recognition of his denial as he slowly began to tear the rubbery flesh of the Amplified Extendable Ears to little bits as he digested what he'd just heard and how to respond to his brother's inquiries. He began jauntily, his fallback defense to anything horrible that happened in life. He'd joked when he'd lost his ear, hadn't he? This wasn't any different in a way. He'd been slowly preparing himself for the eventuality, but the pain still felt like a phantom limb. There and aching as if his body hadn't yet registered it's bodily removal.

"Nothing I didn't know already, really." He grinned, shrugging at his brother's concerned look before Charlie fixated on the door with a thoughtful frown.

The dragon keeper laid an arm across his brother's shoulders in camaraderie, as if he knew what he couldn't bring himself to say or acknowledge innately. "C'mon now, yeh numptey."

George thought about Fred, and how he would have already known and roped him into some kind of elaborate prank to take his mind off of the heartache, and the weight on his chest seemed to worsen at his other brother's offer of verbal absolution. He could remember her, vividly, as a terrified firsty. She'd quietly cried in a corner of a remote hallway as he watched one night until he convinced Fred into blindsiding her with an elaborate charm, nearly bringing down Filch on them with her howling at their having drenched her in soap water from their 'prank'. She'd eventually become his favorite victim and infatuation had morphed into something else entirely after his brother had died. He'd latched onto her in place of his dead half-soul like gunpowder to fireworks after she'd reached out to him, and she'd done her best to keep him alive when he'd done his damnedest to kill himself without letting on he was trying. Hermione, misbegotten love of his deeply troubled heart, didn't deserve this despair at her own happiness.

"It can't be all that bad. Tell old Charlie all about it." He thumped on George shoulder. "Nothing painful about words. Just roping 'em in makes it sting worse than a stray hex."

"Oh, no worries mate. Only hurts when I laugh." George smirked ironically, clapping his brother on the back before hauling himself off the carpet to continue rounds.

Charlie sighed, banging his head against the wall behind him as he stared at the closed door.

* * *

><p>"How is she?"<p>

"Burning up, acting as if noffing vrong."

George pursed his generous lips, eying the rambling roof of the small cottage in the distance with suspicion.

"Did she take anything? Why are mediwitches so horrible at taking care of themselves. I'd say it to her face if I didn't think she'd throw a wobbly."

"Dunno." Viktor shrugged, irritated as much as the redhead. "Bigheaded I guess. She drank a Peppermint Chill potion, so at least she take someffing." The Bulgarian sighed, running his fingers raggedly through his tussled locks.

The boys had taken a few laps around the cottage grounds, setting traps and reinforcing the barrier around it's perimeter. Complacency was the hunted mans downfall, and Viktor had no intention of allowing himself to fall into such a simple trap. Bill had been called away on Gringotts business after the inferi assault, and without his expertise it was slow going work.

However, Viktor did not miss the man's highly attuned sense of smell. The leer thrown at him by the resident canine animagus over breakfast that morning, almost a glare now that he thought more about the Marauder's twisted personality, was a pale comparison to the tantrum the eldest Weasley would have thrown. He'd been watching his back all day long in anticipation of an outburst from the older man, fully expecting a black eye for his transgression against the erstwhile bookish saint among them.

It would have been worth it.

The silver attached to his skin prickled, and Viktor frowned, rubbing at his band to soothe the sting. He wondered if the enchantment had gone haywire after their consummation. A slow smile stretched across his face.

"Oi... _Oi!_"

Viktor turned to raise an eyebrow at the Weasley boy's exclamation.

"Quit that. You're making my ear twitch."

He grinned.

* * *

><p>"Ginny, love?" Harry peeked his head into the room with a fatalistic grimace, only slightly necessary as Ginny whipped her head around to send disapprovingly squinted eyes in his direction.<p>

"Yes dearest?"

Hermione hid her slipped giggle behind a hand at Ginny's deadpanned stare at her husband as she theatrically stirred her tea. Watching her once timid friend blossom into a true international toast of the wizarding world, and the attitude that had accompanied that climb, still had left her reeling in amusement some days.

"It's best I get you home now." Harry fiddled with his glasses, a nervous habit he'd never been able to break.

"Really?," drawled Ginny, barely skipping a beat as she raised one eyebrow at her brother pushing his way past the half slumped form of a national hero to regard his sister with an equally sarcastic stare.

"Brother Harry did put a time limit on your chocolate bonanza here, pet. And I'm inclined to agree wi' him."

"And I'm disinclined to acquiesce to his request."

Charlie's face turned quizzical as Hermione burst into laughter, both women fluttering their hands needlessly in a parody entirely lost on the dragon keeper.

Harry sighed. "I knew I never should have let you two go see Pirates of the Caribbean."

"Because of the constant quoting or because I still think Johnny Depp is dishy?"

Harry's hand flexed on the molding as he righted his body with green eyes glinting. Charlie huffed as he shook his head, giving up on deciphering the muggle threaded conversation. While he liked a movie once in a while himself, a Romanian dragon reserve was on the slow train for wizarding pop culture let alone catching something current in the muggle world. His exasperation turned into concern as Hermione went from laughter to heaving coughs, barely recognizing his feet moving as he went to conjure a glass of water for her as she waved him off.

"Just a frog in my throat." He pressed her with the glass anyways, once again wondering at mugglisms as Harry began to usher his reluctant to leave sister towards the door. Hermione's breath shuddered with effort, and he fingered his wand before turning to run directly into Sirius Black as he appeared from seemingly out of nowhere. The frown on his aristocratic face articulated his displeasure as the younger man groaned at the intrusion. It was getting too damn crowded, even for a Weasley.

* * *

><p>It had taken them nearly the entire afternoon to upgrade his traps, and by the time George and Viktor made the long trek back to the cottage it was nearly dusk. After finding her absent from the impromptu family dinner taking place in the main dining room, he was informed (in a shirty manner from his own house guest, at that) she could be found where he'd left her earlier in the day. None of the men had the heart to make her move her nap to the nursery, and she'd been on extended lie-in since mid afternoon. He took the short route to the sitting room, steps two at a time as he carefully opened up the door for fear of disturbing her rest.<p>

Viktor smiled at the picture. His lady was curled up on herself, slumbering peacefully on the same couch he'd left her reclining on before, tucked up in the throw he'd wrapped her in himself.

"Hermione?"

Calloused hands brushed against her cheeks, smoothing against her brow before moving to tuck the lovely warmth of the plush throw tighter around her body. She began to register the couch cushion under her cheek, and that the fire had begun to scuttle in it's grate.

"Hermione, loff?" The back of a hand was pressed to her brow, holding there as Viktor began to curse softly under his breath. She swallowed, finding her body heavy and ill responsive. Eyes fluttering open, a frisson of disbelief welled in her belly. She awoke to a hazy, half in focus world to her normally impeccable vision. Black eyes gazed in her own fearfully as she shivered in a cold sweat, body aching as the pleasant sleep fell away to awakening terror.

"Viktor," she panted out, "Fetch Professor Snape."

* * *

><p>Viktor slammed into the shop like a rogue bludger, nearly throwing the door off it's hinges in his haste. Finding the storeroom empty, dark lanterns dimmed for closing time, he panicked.<p>

"Snape! Kŭdeto sa sŭzdadeni ot choveka!" He was bellowing, and the realization that he'd slipped out of English in his panic was only dimly registered. "Snape _VHERE_ are you?"

"What the devil?" The man in black popped out of his back room, the snarl fixed to explode on his face dropping at the normally taciturn wizards complete lack of composure. A familiar blond head followed behind him, paling at the sight of Viktor grabbing the ex-professor by his coat lapels in frightened urgency. Snape latched onto the other mans forearms before shoving him into a consultation chair, surprising both men with his wiry strength.

"What is it man, _spit it out._"

"Hermione," he panted, fighting for breath after having run from the nearest corner he'd apparated to in the confusion. His eyes were pin pricked and luminous and his face, though flushed from his sprint, was bloodless despite the few spots of high color from exertion. "She's dying."

Draco dropped the vial he'd been holding on Viktor's elaboration, and the sound of shattering glass shook free the small silence that had descended on the apothecary after the out of breath Bulgarian's anguished shout.

"What on earth do you mean? Dying?" The dull flatness of his black eyes belied his disbelieving tone, and he turned to his godson with a hiss, "Draco, gather my kit. Leave the ingredients to me." At Viktor's lack of response during the hasty instructions, he finally lost his temper and shouted the end of his patience with a roar. "Explain yourself _**at once!**_"

"She said something about relapse, that something vas in poison that vas not found by hospital. That you vould know vhat it vas."

Snape seemed to wilt, dropping one hand to flatten against the table as if to prop himself up. "Of course. Of course they would have to twist things even further. It could be any number of derivative poisons." He quickly recovered, snatching a large satchel from underneath a counter to check it's contents, quickly beginning to move about the room as he swapped out vial for vial from his own shelves.

"Ve gave you a sample, _vhy _didn't you know before now?"

The potions master snapped, slamming the leather bound wooden carrier onto the counter with enough force to rattle it's fragile contents as he slapped a wooden board over it's top, struggling to wrap it's spell cushioning flap over the now bulging cargo. When Viktor went to help stretch the taut leather with a hand, Snape smacked it away with a growl, spitting out a wandless spell that left the barely touching ends snapped firmly into place.

"Because you never asked me to and the sample you gave me would have been too degraded _even if I had tried_," he snarled in frustration. "I assumed that whatever hospital you were at had a lab competent enough to have examined the potion well enough to determine any such... irregularities." He moved to fill another smaller satchel more gingerly, taking barely a minute to fill up its racks before bellowing his readiness. "Draco! _Draco,_ dammit all!" He began to secure the overstuffed ingredient satchels to his person, crossing the straps overtop of themselves like a bandolier.

"I'm coming, for fucks sake!" Malfoy emerged breathless from the backroom with a wooden crate levitated in tow first before he heaved it onto his back with ancient looking leather straps. Snape barely had enough time to flip around the open sign to closed and lock the wards before Viktor latched on to both men, apparating them across the continent to Bulgaria in the blink of an eye.

* * *

><p>"Charlie?" The older man was cursing, rubbing her hands frantically as he worked to soothe the pins and needles that were growing under her skin. He angled himself towards the door, eying the empty hallway for his brother. He'd sent a patronus after the other redhead shortly after Viktor had bodily shoved him into the room, finding him lurking in the hallway after having checked on the ailing woman. "Charlie. Calm down."<p>

He stuffed the manic laughter that welled in his throat back down at her reassurance. He was little help in these situations, which was why he was so ill at ease sitting with a slowly deteriorating Hermione. Her face was pale, glowing with an unhealthy sheen that spoke of high temperature and anemia. It rankled to see her so very serious and collected as her body shut down around her when all he could do was panic. And react. He was good at that too. His reaction time was what had made him such a good dragon keeper. Courage and quick thinking under fire, and all that. But stick him in a similar situation with human beings and he was pants at keeping his head on straight.

"Right. Right. Calm down. Easy for you to say, puţin împărăteasă." She'd always reminded him of a dragon queen, ruling her brood with an iron claw and barking orders as if she was born to it. Other than a few quick glimpses when she was still in school and then Bill's nuptuals, his first impression of her was her shouting down an order meeting when no one would stop to listen to her suggestion. Sick of the bickering on how to proceed, she'd laid down a battle plan as if she'd been born to the war room, and she'd ruthlessly pushed back when Kingsley and a few other more hardened members began to nitpick at her well thought out response. She'd barely been legal to drink at the time.

Sometimes he wished he'd never come back at all from Romania to spare himself the guilt of having watched her, and so many like her, be brutalized time and again. But then he would have had the regret of having sat on his broom rather than flying after the just cause in such a war of morals. To fight against those who would have destroyed her for an accident of birth, and his own family for having sheltered her. And loving her. His brother Ron had practically made her an unofficial Weasley... his hands tightened their grip.

"Not especially, and ease up. What's done is done." She snorted, duly amused at the wizards grimace. Her breathing was low and labored, and she was kicking herself for not realizing it sooner. With any luck she'd still have bought them enough time by taking the elixir she'd had on hand from the kit Snape had sent her, along with a bastardized concoction of her own making mixed from a few of the other potions he'd sent along with his medial care package. George startled them both as he burst into the room at a full run, on time for her to boss around as usual.

"George, I need you to take down some notes for me while I can think. Your brother's head is exploding and I'm not even losing cognition yet."

"Notes? _Notes_, what the blimmen-" George tore open drawers on the nearby desk, searching for parchment and quill as he sputtered through his confusion and trepidation.

"What I want is for you to tell me what the bloody hell is going on, witch." Charlie hissed, giving in to his long streaked temper. "All I know is that you look like you're about to fall arse over wand and your blinking pet thestral tossed me-"

"There was a second component to the poison I was dosed with that's unfolding. And if you'd _bloody well listened to me_ rather than running your gob I'dve explained otherwise. Now get your arse to the library and fetch me '_Hiver Cadeau'_ by Étienne Monroe while I can still think. Red leather bound book, second shelf with the potions texts, on the South wall in the private library I was raiding a day ago."

"Now's not the time for swotting-"

"Either get me the book or I'll get it myself."

Charlie glared at the witch as she glared right back, her mission accomplished as he momentarily forgot the urgency of the situation.

"Will one of you tell me what _the hell_ is going on?"

"Take this down then fetch my potions kit; less questions, more do what I'm telling you and I'll tell you later."

* * *

><p>Both the potioneers nearly had to drag Viktor into his own home after the magical drain of apparating the two men and their assorted cargo from such a distance after having apparated himself just a short moment beforehand. The weight the two men shouldered on top of bodily dragging the magically exhausted wizard was immense. The cauldron alone weighed nearly four stone, leaving out the rest of the glass tubing and burner, none of which could be magically lightened for any prolonged period of time for fear of contamination during the brewing process. So they were stuck humping the enormous weight muggle style, trekking through the 'hills and fucking dales' as Draco moaned several times through the excursion.<p>

All three were sweat soaked and disheveled by the time they made it through the dense forest and winding corridors to reach the innermost sitting room. Although an interior space, the windows had been spelled to let in the eastern view through it's windows, secure but still sunlit.

Inside was orderly chaos. It appeared that someone had done their own spellwork to make it more comfortable for the woman who now reclined in a small daybed. Harry, both Weasley brothers and Sirius crowded around an obviously delirious Hermione, talking amongst themselves in a rushed, dull clamor. As they trudged into the room, all conversation and wild gesturing ceased as the men turned to stare down the three dark wizards. When Snape and Black locked eyes, the entire room tensed as the three men hovering over Hermione moved to step in between the two in anticipation of the inevitable. Harry was the first to break ranks.

"Do you think you can help her?" The question was addressed to Snape, but Harry's eyes were firmly trained on Draco. The blond stared stonily back, face blank without any semblance of a frown to feed the fire.

"If you lot clear out and give me the room to work I might be able to tell you, won't I now?" sneered Snape, moving to unfurl one strap of his ingredient satchels.

Sirius's jaw twitched, and he moved to stand away from where he held Hermione's hand, repositioning her blanket as she shifted. George began to protest before Charlie's hand found the back of his neck, jolting him into silence with swift cuff to the skull.

"Give me room to work while the chit is still alive, Potter. One of you in the sickroom at time."

Viktor, slumped in the doorway, lifted his ragged head to nod his ascension before turning his stormy gaze to Hermione's face as she writhed against Sirius's steadying hand.

Charlie grabbed hold of his brother, hauling him out of the room as George snarled in Draco's direction. Harry turned, touching Sirus's shoulder lightly before vacating the room without a backwards glance. As he left, Sirius pushed his way past the two potioneers deliberately, pausing in step to lock eyes Snape for another tense breath before Viktor growled at him in wordless frustration. Before the door swung shut, Draco had already dropped his load to the ground and begun mechanically working to unpack it's contents onto a wooden sideboard.

Severus wasted no time in making his way to the bed, bending down to pry open Hermione's eyes as he examined each dilated pupil. At her startled response, he firmly pushed away her thrashing hands before she calmed to his voice, body nearly flush as he leaned in to murmur into her ear, making an already jumpy Viktor internally cringe at the familiarity. Viktor outwardly balked as the dark man began to unbutton the high neck of her traditional robe, and the older wizard growled without stopping in his movements at the interruption. He palpated her throat, massaging long fingers against her chilled skin, and breathed in deeply through his nose against her skin before moving to take her pulse at her wrist with two fingertips. Gently moving her open robe, he leaned in to press his ear against her chest, stopping after a moment to startle both men as he loudly and violently cursed. Brow furrowed, he withdrew to flick his wand, muttering three rapid-fire spells to his seeming dissatisfaction.

"Yes, yes." His already deep voice was low, as if he was talking to Hermione or rhetorically rather than the other occupants of the room. "Repedés Enyhébb idõ, all the hallmarks." Snape's face was weary, his thin lips tightened into a knot that left Viktor's throat full as he queried his port in a storm.

"Vhat does that mean?" He had an inking, but his Hungarian wasn't stellar.

"Spring Thaw. A diabolical variant of wintergreen poisoning. Nasty, nearly always fatal." He pinned the Bulgarian with a dark gaze, watching the younger man as he gripped the band attached to his wrist until his knuckles whitened. "A potion invented by a wizard who wanted to punish his frigid lover when she took a new beau."

"O, Gospodi..."

His hands as they skimmed her throat, pale and perfect.

"Quite."

His mouth as he made love to her, pressed against her own as he devoured her in every sense of the word.

"I've killt her." Viktor sank to the floor to kneel beside the bed, head pressed to the side of the mattress as if in benediction.

"Not necessarily. These notes read that she took a potion that gives me a little more lee-way. Quick thinking." The dour wizard nodded as he skimmed through a list of ingredients scrawled in George Weasley's hand. "It's nearly impossible to heal it's effects past the forty-eight hour point, and with the potion she administered it's given us a larger window of time to work with but it's fast closing with the time needed to brew the antidote. I'll need every second. And her recovery will still be slow after. If... there isn't permanent cerebral damage."

"This vas vhy they felt secure enufff to leaff job unfinished." Viktor rose to slam open the lid of the ingredient tote as Snape struggled with it, moving back to watch as the wizard began to withdraw precious ingredients before raggedly yanking at his own hair for lack of ability. There was nothing he could do but watch. Yet again.

"Perhaps."

Snape hastily pulled out an empty vial, eyeballing the amounts as he mixed two vaporous looking substances together before pulling the cork held in his teeth to stopper it, swirling the contents with a few practiced twirls of the wrist.

Viktor gave into necessity as Draco labored to set up the master's cauldron, kneeling on Hermione's flailing hands as Snape fought to pry open her clenched jaw. She moaned and fought, and Snape nearly lost a finger in the process, hissing at her in placating tones until suddenly she stilled as he managed to pour the now congealed slop into the witches sputtering mouth. Her seizing slackened. Snape stood for half a breath, staring at her motionless form before whirling to check over Draco's work. He snarled at finding him half finished, shoving the younger wizard out of the way to finish linking the tube work himself.

"Draco?" Hermione's fevered mutterings pitched, and the Malfoy heir's pale head ducked in to catch her words as he moved to take her shaking hands into his own, rubbing at them with a pained tenderness that gave Viktor pause even as the Bulgarian wrung his own fists in terror. "Draco, how are you here now? It's not time for Narcissa's trial yet today. I promised you I'd give her the double potions next week. The essay isn't due for another day yet!"

Draco choked at her rambling, throwing a half terrified look to Snape as he unpacked his kit with a speed and deftness that put him to shame for his lack of assistance.

"Another time, Granger, you..." He paused as she twisted, her eyes half focusing on his blurry face as her jaw ticked in concentration. "Letting other people do the work for you. Isn't right, little-miss-know-it-all." Her nose wrinkled, and Viktor sent him a wordless glare as Draco stared back, grey eyes hard and unrepentant. The Bulgarian had seen the spark just as he had, but as ever the Malfoy heir had impeccable timing to rankle the other man. Viktor's hands clenched, fingers digging into skin. Draco carefully placed Hermione's hands back under the covers before rising to hastily help Snape with setting up his vials, Viktor quickly taking his spot as Hermione reached out for him.

"Vill our lives alvays be like this... Vaiting for somevone to snatch her avay..." Viktor wondered in a quiet whisper to Hermione's half lidded eyes after some time had passed in tense silence, broken only by the witches confused babbling and the clangs of the two potioneers setting up shop. Shuddering as he gripped the sheets beside her prone form, he struggled to keep her covered despite her thrashing to sit up and complete nonsensical tasks. Papers that had been due in school years ago, empirical data she'd finished running through arithmancy circles after hundreds of formulas later.

"Someone is trying to kill you." His sharp hearing had caught the other wizards whispered musing. Snape allowed black humor drip into his rebuttal as he worked ceaselessly, but then continued on in a more matter of fact tone. "You're an international quiddtich star and she's one third of the trio that took down the Dark Lord. People will harass you until you both retire and find a quiet corner of the world in which to hide, under a rock, more likely than not."

The dark wizards hands blurred, moving at an incredible rate as he uncorked and poured several substances from the bottom of his kit into a beaker, moving to crush then mix another dry ingredient before drawing a measured dose of the result into a needless syringe.

"Now help me get this down her throat."

The two men struggled to hold her still while Draco worked furiously to bring the cauldron up to temperature.

* * *

><p>Smoke burned his nostrils and he could feel the soot blackening his mouth as he searched, flailing and grasping with outstretched fingertips into the dark and swirling abyss of smoke.<p>

He woke, gasping in air after the lapse of a half hours rest, reaching out for her in life as he had in sleep. But as her eyes focused on him, he realized that she was as transubstantial as his dream when he stared into her eerily vacant eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>Translations: <strong>_K__ŭdeto sa sŭzdadeni ot choveka_ – where are you man!, _Hiver Cadeau –_ Winter's Gift (French), _puţin împărăteasă_ (Romanian) - little empress, _O, gospodi _– Oh my god

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the prolonged absence. This took absolute decades to write. Between having a slow going healing from my surgery and a nasty case of bronchitus, along with life in general getting in the way, I've taken my sweet time with this one. It's definitely longer than usual. Things will slow down a little again now, never fear, but for timing it was necessary for me to throw a bunch of plot at everyone over the last few chapters. T.O. Is also turning out to be much, much longer than originally intended. I thought this would be a twenty, maybe twenty five chaptered story, but I think it may turn out quite a bit longer than that.


	21. Chapter 21

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse, sexuality)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Twenty-One**

_Tick_

Her eyes lolled in their sockets, mouth gasping as she struggled against a hot draught pressed on her straight from the cauldron.

_Tick_

Snape as he prowled around the makeshift laboratory taking calculations, barking orders to his assistant who frantically ground and minced and plucked and measured.

_Tick_

The sound of the clock as it ticked away precious seconds that could mean the loss of self or function.

_Tick-_Snick

Viktor glared at the pendulum of the table clock as it's hand turned over yet again. He had two hours, forty-five minutes and fifty more seconds until he could regain the sick room after having been shoved out and locked into the nursery to rest by**- **someone. He wasn't quite sure in the confusion of his daze.

He wasn't sure of anything anymore.

* * *

><p>"What are you doing here, Granger?" He was hissing, hackles raised as he took in the scene in the hospital room he'd just walked into. The woman was hunched over his ailing mother's bed, patting gently at her hand as his mother wept and sniffled against the sea of pillows propping up her wasted torso.<p>

"My job, Malfoy." She sat back on the low stool, brow furrowed as she looked between parent and child with a vaguely tired look on her face. Swathed in hideous lime green robes, an embroidered rank patch that proclaimed her specialty and department on it's breast pocket, it appeared that his former captive had indeed become a healer while they'd been.. away.

Draco's eyes bore into the other witches without restraint or guile in his distrust.

Finally after a tense moment, he rasped out a bark of disbelief. "Why, in Salazar's name, would you want to help me or mine, little Gryffindor?" _Muggleborn. Order member. Potter's._ His eyes were still narrowed in suspicion as she rolled her own at the mild slight. Then his mother began to heave; deep, wracking coughs of stilted pain that shook her entire form as Hermione turned to ignore his increasing ire. Her disheveled patient reached out for her arms before the younger witch had even swung around completely.

Draco's anger built like a slowly fed flame as he watched his former classmate rub at his mothers hands and temples, his mother groaning in agony. A minute passed, and though slowly quieted his mother continued to shake like a leaf in the wind as the seconds ticked past.

"Is that all you're going to do?" Silence. She didn't even register his presence as he moved to stand next to her bent form. "Just get out." His voice shook, no longer waiting for her to administer the draught that he knew would bring his mother short term relief. He wondered, vaguely, if it was satisfying to see them in pain for all they'd done. Maybe it was deserved, but his mother had suffered enough to last several lifetimes. He'd have none of it. "_Out_."

Narcissa turned a heavy lidded eye to glare at her son, mouth turning from twisted pain to a sharp moue of displeasure he was all too familiar with. He winced.

"It's a balm absorbed through the skin. It works to soothe the nerve endings effected. New research." His mother's voice had morphed. Her once melodious voice was scratchy, as if she'd sung one too many arias. It was kinder to think of that fiction rather than the truth of having watched her scream herself raw after their fall from grace.

Granger, calmly massaging his mothers forehead, moved a strand of prematurely white hair behind a sallow ear. His mother's liver had been effected by her bodies slow deterioration, and her once snowy skin had yellowed with the time past between dialysis potions. He swallowed thickly.

His mother's eyes, sad and sunken, caught his own sharply before he let his gaze fall to the floor.

He took a deep breath and held it, willing himself to let go of a great many things.

* * *

><p>"Draco."<p>

His head was bobbing, hand slackening in his grip as he hung over a small mountain of lacewings. His chin suddenly jerked up, startling himself awake as his drooping knife tip clattered against the marble cutting board.

"_Draco!_"

"What?" He spun, knife in hand to glare at Snape, who glowered right back in response.

"Leave. Remove yourself to shop or home." At the other man's balking, he elaborated with a much put out air. "You're dead on your feet. Send in George Weasley on your way out."

"But-"

"Don't argue. Just do it." He continued to stir as he spoke, deft hands moving ceaselessly as his eyes telescoped his lack of patience, black gaze bleeding out of their ever deepening sockets and drawn countenance. A charmed abacus next to the cauldron steadily ticked it's rounded beads as it counted the revolutions of his copper stirring rod.

"You want me to send in George _sodding_ Weasley?" The query was filled with tired indignation.

"Do you think half his potions patents fell out of his _sodding_ ear?"

A loud snort echoed through the bubbling and churning of substances trickling through the now elaborate tubing set around the mess of used cauldrons. Both men turned to glare in the direction of the penetrating dark gaze of one Sirius Black. At Viktor's ejection from the room he'd pulled rank on his fellow order members, stonily staring down the others as they bantered their distrust of a certain blond and the need for diligent vigilance of the man's actions. It was hard to argue with the wizards reasoning behind his rebuke; if anyone could spot something afoul between the two potioneers it would be easy enough said as done for the former childhood enemy and auror, and he had years of experience over Harry in that respect.

"No one asked you, mutt," snarled Snape, too exhausted to hold his tongue.

"Eyes on your work, Lanci Vicar's boy," snapped back Sirius, without missing a beat.

Draco bit back his own cursing jag as the Marauder's eyes bore into his shifting form in blatant suspicion. Of what, after his conduct throughout the past day, he was entirely uncertain. His hands clenched at his sides as he moved to pack up his knife kit, carelessly blowing his long bangs out of his eyes.

The younger man shuffled, his pack dead weight as his leaden limbs protested at the strain of carrying a once buoyant load, pausing to glare at her unmoving form on the makeshift bed. She hadn't so much as twitched since Snape had poured the equivalent of a stasis spell down her throat to stop her thrashing. A muscle ticked in his cheek as he relented to the heavy silence in the room, stalking out the door without a backwards glance as he left in search of his once school-mate.

At Malfoy's departure, the two wizards left in his absence gave up any pretense of good will.

"If she dies-" He halted mid sentence as his words snapped taught, unable to finish, black curls falling into his face as he moved to stood over Hermione' utterly still form. Sirius's voice had delved darker, more gravel into his already threatening posture and matching intonation.

"Then it won't be on my soul for lack of effort. I owe her a life debt." Snape's perpetually deep snarl, tarnished by his injury, slipped even further into baritone in response.

The retort offered no reproach, only a flat truth that Sirius couldn't maneuver around with his newly grown conscience. For which he had a few truly close friends to count for in it's cultivation, one of which lay expiring with no way for him to haul back to his clutches other than through the man that stood in front of him, however distrusted. Dragging out a shred of goodwill, he relented.

"It's on all our heads. "

Both men shared a dark, knowing look.

* * *

><p>"Weasley the younger." The man jolted up from his light sleep, leaning against his brother's dozing shoulder in the hallway. "Get your freckled arse up and go assist Snape. You're taking over for me."<p>

"Where the hell do you think you're going now, ferret-face?" George blinked wearily in the low candlelight, assessing the washed out pallor of the dark wizard as he leaned heavily against the wall.

Draco wrapped one hand around a sconce to steady himself. "Elsewhere. I have other pressing business that is none of yours. Especially in light of your time wasting questions."

"Well bully for you then. Feck off and thanks for the help."

Draco grunted, raking a hand through his already ravaged hair before shaking his head and stomping off towards the stairway.

Charlie blinked, blearily taking in the scene with faint amusement. "You thanked him."

George had hunkered down on the floor, laboriously contorting himself while trying to crack his back, twisting his spine against the thin carpet. It was no place to sleep, but he'd survived worse boltholes over the years. He lifted his head to shrug.

Charlie snorted at his lack of response. "That's a start, I guess."

* * *

><p>Hermione drifted. The month she'd spent petrified had her mostly mastering the art of lucid dreaming after having been forcefully rendered unconscious. For some reason unknown to her or any text she'd stumbled upon over the years, the circumstances mattered. During her normal sleep schedule she was occasionally able to guide her dreams contents, but it was a comparative rarity.<p>

Currently she was sitting on a blank and barren sheet of parchment, meditating as best she could. She'd dissolved the surroundings of the Forbidden Forest she'd fallen into upon her thrust into her own subconscious. So far her dreamscape hadn't been very formative on pushing back against her exerted will. But then again she hadn't been unconscious for very long.

Or so she thought.

It was impossible to tell passage of time when imprisoned within ones skull. The last time she'd been laid up after having a hex rebound onto her during healing she'd been sure that only a few hours had past, waking up to the reality that three days had slipped by in the meantime. Like having lain down to sleep only to discover it was already the next morning.

The landscape blurred, the parchment underneath her crossed legs crinkling. She frowned, concentrating. It was difficult to keep her mind clear, but much more taxing to lead something already formed or to create something out of nothing in order to relieve her boredom. For the time being she would attempt to relax and blank her thoughts.

She breathed out, measuring her exhales and inhales in an exercise of patience that would have done her yoga loving mother proud. Counting the seconds, she went to shift her legs, finding them and the air surrounding her viscous. She panicked.

The bright landscape plunged into darkness.

* * *

><p>Viktor jolted out of bed, clutching his wrist as it blazed past the ever present tingle that had remained since their brief interlude. Throwing back the bedclothes he quickly slid into his boots, grabbing his shirt off the footboard railing to toss on untucked before stumbling to the fireplace. Hastily grabbing a fistful of floo powder, he stepped into the green flames, whisking through the house until he was yanked into the room he'd bellowed to be taken to.<p>

He'd gotten little further than past the grate before Snape grabbed him by the arm, yanking him up as he fell over his half awake feet as he lumbered towards the occupied bed. The older wizard half pulled half dragged him to sit on the floor beside Hermione's ensconced and unmoving body before Snape heaved his own exhausted frame into a chair next to them both. He waited for the questions, diminished body hunched over.

"Vhat is, she is-" Viktor stuttered, tripping over his tongue in his fear, shooting an eye to the clock to see that several more hours had past than he'd wanted to allow. George Weasley was huddled on an armchair nearby, lanky body folded absurdly into the small furnishing, pale and sleeping like the dead. The air in the room felt heavy, magic nearly tangible in the leftover fumes that hung thick over the abandoned cauldron. The sideboard was littered with potions prep.

"Miss Granger is doing well. Given the circumstances." Snape paused to exhale, rubbing at his scarred throat with a weary hand. "She slipped into a coma after I applied the final healing draught. There's nothing more to be done."

"You are certain?"

Snape sent him a dim look, thin lips pursed. "Very. I attempted to legilimize her and found no trace of higher brain activity," he paused, watching as the seeker's face crumbled in on itself with a vague and twisted sense of satisfaction. As much as he pitied him, it had been his own negligence that had taken root and grown to fruition. "Her body needs time to heal itself."

Viktor slumped against her bed once more, eyes distant. The pain crawling up his arm was immense, but he welcomed it like an old friend.

"All we can do is wait. Time will tell." Snape half shrugged, disconcertingly. What was meant to be a reassuring gesture fell flat.

"Vhat.. What are her chances." A swallow. A silent prayer.

"I'd weigh in on a fifty percent recovery rate. That's far more than most would have warranted after such an ordeal. She is.. very lucky indeed." He wouldn't give the boy false hope. That would be too cruel in the end.

The younger man shook his head, unwilling to believe the words that shook him to the core. Steeling himself, he drew his body up to full height so better to pin the older man with a grateful look that he felt was warranted though not entirely genuine. Bowing his head, he nearly genuflected in the old language with thanks.

"I am in your debt."

The silence hung between them for a pregnant pause, before Snape returned his gesture with a graceful if tired salute. "There is no debt that could discharge my own."

George sat up, falling from his precarious perch in the chair.

"I believe it would be kind if one of you could inform the others." The dark wizard promptly slumped, eyes listing off as he allowed himself, finally, a measure of rest.

* * *

><p>Wood crackled in the grate, a large ember falling off to the stone beneath as sparks flew into the chimney above. Little else broke the silence as the men sat in their respective places throughout the large room. Some slumbered, others stared off into oblivion, and one barely maintained a visage of functionality.<p>

Viktor ruminated. Guilt flooded his every waking thought. Few things had stolen his breath in life so fearfully as when he'd plunged himself into Hermione's thoughts and found nothing of the woman he loved. His mind had flashed back to when her heart had stopped beating in her chest, and all he wanted was to drown himself in fire whiskey.. but that wouldn't bring her back to health. The thought had crossed his mind that he'd never forgive himself if she died and he wasn't by her side. Apparently, by the men surrounding him, he wasn't the lone progenitor of that particular thought.

Harry sat beside him on the couch, stoic and yet obviously effected.

"I know this is hard to think about," Potter paused to push back his glasses by their bridge, clenching his jaw. "But, we need to continue planning."

Viktor shut his eyes, taking a deep and shuddering breath as he nodded his head in assent. Digging into his breast pocket, he retrieved a crumpled letter. Padushka had delivered it as they were trying to maneuver Snape onto a transfigured cot, and he'd shoved it into his robe with little thought as to it's contents. He'd only read it after rolling onto his crinkling pages upon waking from his impromptu collapse into sleep himself. They'd all hunkered down in the sitting room turned hospital chamber for the time being, resting or otherwise.

Sirius shifted, lifting up his tucked chin to open one eye, pinning the the revealed parchment with a bleary glance. He'd been running the perimeter inspections singlehandedly as the rest of the men were needed elsewhere. Charlie and George slumbered on nearby, unaffected by the conversation.

George had run himself magically ragged, offering the by then bone dry Snape his own magical reserves to pour into the needy potions that were vital in halting the spread of the poison running rampant through the sick witches body. Charlie had been tapped in a more tangible and straightforward manner. Part of the healing regime required a muggle style blood transfusion. After testing the entire party, he had been the only possible donor with his universal type O, and Snape had drained him dry like a parched vampire. His skin was nearly as waxy and pale as their patient, and he'd been soundly unconscious for several hours after they'd force fed him a nutrient potion or five before laying him out.

"Coach Milanov put together some ideas for a publicity event. I think ve should look at them, see vhich vone is...," he groped for the right word, "most viable."

Harry fell silent for a long moment after nodding, before continuing on in fractionally more steady tone. "I also think that... after she's recovered," he swallowed, clenching his fists as he pinned his worried gaze on his best friend. "That we should scale back our presence at the cottage. Lead them to think we're being complacent and dropping our guard, give them a bit more incentive."

Viktor grit his teeth, torn, before gesturing for the other wizard to continue on with his explanation.

"It's my professional opinion, and Bill's, that they're bodily unable to get through your wards. The risk should be minimal. I also don't think that they have the intention of letting you go quietly. Everything points to them wanting to make a grand gesture of harming you, to cull you in a public place to make it more humiliating."

At the Bulgarian wizard's hesitancy, Sirius finally spoke his mind on the matter.

"Leave it up to the fates, son, and plan for the future when she wakes. Prepare for the best possible outcome. She's had the finest treatment available and she's always rallied after every turn. Trust in that."

His grandmother had once berated him about letting go. "The more tightly you grasp the faster the snitch will slip through your fingers, boy." She hadn't truly been speaking on the subject of quidditch, but it was something that had stuck with him in both aspects of its philosophical and practical application. The advice had served him well. Things would right themselves if they were ultimately intended to, no matter his own will in either direction. She'd come back to his arms just as she had before.

One clenched fist rose to nudge at the simple cross he'd worn since childhood before rubbing compulsively at his neck. He could trust in Hermione's capability to fight against this illness, she was stubborn to a fault and her will to live was near daunting. He couldn't allow himself to fall into despair at every setback, but... it was more difficult at every twisted turn.

He would have to have faith in God and love.

Sirius rose to stoke the fire, throwing on another log before hunkering down in front of the flames in silent contemplation. He still reveled in the heat of a well fed hearth after so many years of the dank wet and frigid stone of Azkaban. And the nothingness of the veil. He gripped the iron, thrusting it into the flagging embers until the sparks ate away at the new wood.

"Once she's awake we need everything in order, set in stone. The longer we drag everything out the more chances they have of surprising us."

Viktor dredged up the remnants of his tattered resolve as well as dark and and uncomfortable memories of terrorism and sabotage.

"I think I haff gutd plan."

* * *

><p>Dawn was breaking. Viktor had pulled some strings and had a company of aurors assigned to watch the grounds, giving them all the rest they so desperately needed. He'd also called in a favor with an old schoolfriend who headed up a team within the Bulgarian equivalent to the Department of Mysteries.<p>

Tzvetan Todorov might have been a cranky bastard when it came to exiting his well insulated research station into field work, especially for personal favors, but he'd proven himself thorough if not diabolically clever when he chose to take that plunge for Viktor in the past, particularly during their school years. One year behind him in Durmstrang, Tzvetan 'Todo' actually managed to outstrip each and every standing test record as well as having skirted his way around Karkaroff's ever watchful eye with an ease that had Viktor twitching with jealousy. The younger wizard had fielded the headmaster for him while he'd courted Hermione, whom Todo had declared he approved of on an intellectual level after having researched her academic performance at Hogwarts. It was just the kind of reasoning he expected from the brilliant, if eccentric, friend he had found in the younger man. Todo also knew how to keep his mouth shut, and that was the key factor in contacting him over his other contacts within the Bulgarian ministry.

Informing anyone in his countries government of their plan was a risk, however necessary. But Todo had vouched for his small team of hand picked agents in full, and Harry had backed him up with his own cross referencing. The two reviewed a tentative plan Viktor had outlined and offered suggestions, something that would come at regular intervals over the next two or so weeks as they built a more detailed plan of action.

The entire cramped contents of his house were asleep, save himself, scattered through the nursery he'd outfitted for even more guests yet again. Snape had determined that Hermione was stabilized enough to move, so Viktor had her ensconced in her original room, expanded to include a parlor for visitors.

And he'd slept on a cot next to her body, guilt eating away at his conscience. She was pale in the morning sun, cupids bow lips parted as even breaths slipped past her lips. He wanted to draw her into his arms, feel her warmth to anchor himself, but he wouldn't allow the undeserved pleasure. Medical charms floated above her headboard, monitoring her heart and lung function in reassuring chimes.

Tender hands tucked an errant curl behind her ear before moving to take her hand, raising the cool flesh to his cheek, holding it there as he exhaled with a ragged sigh. All he'd wanted was a second chance at life with her, to put both their pasts behind their feet as they apparated into the sunset. Living for her had tested his faith, stretching it to it's limits until he knew the depth and breadth of it, of his own strengths and weaknesses therein. He'd become who he was in many ways for her sake, for their worlds sake for her being it it.

Hermione had once, jokingly, sent him a book of children's fairy tales by an H.C. Anderson among his Christmas presents many years before. She'd charmed it to open to a passage entitled "The Steadfast Tin Soldier". At the time, he'd been both touched and horrified at the intended comparison. Into the fire they went, he supposed. His paints might have faded, and his exterior battered by his fight to her side, but his tin heart remained solely shaped by her hands. However blackened and tarnished they might emerge from the ash, he would remain hers until it all burned away like parchment to flame.

He pressed her slack palm against his trembling lips, moving in a familiar rhythm to words well practiced, praying for yet another miracle.

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Note:<strong>

-Update long time in coming, but hopefully worth the wait. Be prepared for more backstory, angst and sappy tributes to lurve.

-Religious overtones are intentional. Viktor is a religious individual, it's just the way he was raised and how he views the world. Our religious beliefs (or lack-thereof) tend to color how we deal with grief and anxiety, and Viktor isn't any different in this respect. If you're offended by this, please let me know why and I'd love to explore and work through your reasoning as fodder for future works.

-A very special shout out to **Kyria of Delphi**, who I've been keeping in my thoughts and prayers. Your esteem is very close to my heart indeed, and I'm wishing you the very best. It might sound a little trite, but thinking about your situation made this chapter much more of a challenge when working through the emotional aspects of the story line. Writing for me is very cathartic, I can only hope that it's the same for you as well since I do really enjoy your stories XD

-Tzevtan Todorov is, in real life, a renowned Franco-Bulgarian philosopher. I've once again pilfered reality for good Bulgarian names, no offense intended.

-Soundtrack for this chapter, because cellos are awesome:

Ryan Knott's cover of Sail by Apocalyptica [www. you tube watch?v=o0zuU2yYt3Y]

Nearer My God to Thee (for 9 cellos) from ThePianoGuys [ wwww. you tube watch?v=gosY-UrpHcA]


	22. Chapter 22

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse, sexuality)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Twenty-Two**

"George..."

Lank red hair pooled around his chin, thick hanks of it falling into his eyes, obscuring his vision. Not that it really mattered. Strands clung to his lathered cheeks. He absently reached up to wipe his lip free of shaving cream with his empty hand.

His other lovingly caressed the length of his pearl handled straight razor. He and Fred had received them as coming of age gifts for their fifteenth birthday. They hadn't realized their father even knew how to wield one, let alone that he himself had received one from his own sire as a Weasley family tradition. Charlie and Bill had avoided them like wizarding pox when it came to such deep conversations (with good reason), so it had just never come up.

"George?"

He gently dragged the edge across his skin, leaving smooth skin behind as it pulled through his stubble. Testing his cheek, he dipped the blade into a waiting basin of water before wiping it dry. Both wizards had tended to keep the self sharpening blades well stropped for special occasions. It had been easier to shave one another rather than ones own tender throat, so they'd taken turns practicing on one another until neither one bled following every hesitant stroke. He remembered lathering Fred up before his first real date with Angelina Johnson, smacking him on the back of the head when the git couldn't sit still long enough for him not to pink the little blighter in his nervousness. He pulled his skin taught, guiding the shiny blade down with a sharp pull.

"_George!_"

Toffee eyes glared into his own brilliant blue in the mirror, small lips tightened into a worry knot as her eyes flickered back and forth between his bloodied throat and his eerily steady hand. He set down the expensive straight razor with gentle care.

"What?" His normally mellow timbre was rusty and hoarse from disuse.

Hermione swallowed, watching him mop at the steadily dripping blood with morbid fascination. She steadied herself.

"You know, I think you'd look smashing with a beard."

The twin remembered rolling around on the floor with his brother prematurely aged near a blue flamed goblet, decades growth grey and straggly between them. Fred had tried to to choke him with the length, fighting for purchase as his arthritic fingers barely were able to grasp at the mess.

He snickered, rasping against the press of the worn cloth as he raised his wand to staunch the bleeding. Hermione's eyes smiled back at him, and his heart felt curiously lighter.

A sharp and sudden pain bit into his upper lip, and George cursed, setting aside the disposable kit he'd been plying against his five o'clock shadow. The reverie swiftly drifted out of his thoughts as he scrambled for toilette tissue before he bled all over Viktor's white towels. Charlie thumped on the door at his cursing, and the younger Weasley dug for his wand to close the small cut.

* * *

><p>Viktor, with all the enthusiasm of a matured mandrake, gently pulled open Hermione's closed eyes. Chocolate brown glinted up at him, glazed and unfocused. He swallowed heavily, steeling his nerves and centering his mind before he dropped himself straight into her subconscious.<p>

Darkness.

Outwardly he closed his own black orbs, breaking the connection as he allowed himself to shudder, drawing great heaving gulps of air as he fought back the anxiety and overwhelming despair that flooded his veins. It had been six days. Six days of his desperation clawing at him as he paced her room and escaped to the gardens for his own sanity. One night he'd beaten his fists bloody against a familiar old willow in the frigid solitude, sobbing and cursing as he knelt in the ancient garden that she'd so adored, begging God not to take her from him yet again.

On the fifth day, Harry had shoved him out of the cottage with a broom in his hand, telling him that if he didn't attend his normal quidditch practice he'd pull his permit for their Aurory detail. He'd grabbed onto the broom, flying towards his wards before apparating away without a word. Afterwards he didn't even remember the drill formations they'd ran that day, going through the motions without registering his body following through.

He mourned. He contemplated how to revenge himself if given the chance, contemplated the vanished children and warmth within his hall and in his life as she languished in waiting.

In a fit of frustrated energy the night before he'd apparated into town, pouring through the local muggle libraries pithy collection on coma patients. Some of the information was horrifying, and he couldn't stop himself from cringing as he read about the atrophy of muscles and tissue the longer one was confined to bed without waking. Some of it was enlightening however, and it was how he found himself reading aloud to her in hopes of stimulating her slumbering synapses.

He'd chosen a book on aromatherapy, something muggles had appropriated from long forgotten ancient wizarding herbology, that modern wizards themselves had latched onto and adapted with some merit to mediwizardry. The concept of fleshing out a muggle concept into actual magic was intriguing.

At least, Hermione would have thought it was.

And so there he sat, patiently translating the text from Bulgarian into English for her benefit, speaking to her in unconscious form in low, coaxing tones as he prayed for her mind to repair itself. He hoped for a spark, just an indication that she would emerge from her slumber. So he read.

Viktor read until his throat ached, until his eyes squinted at the blurring text, until his fingers chafed against the the bound parchment. He read until he lost himself in the act, forgot himself as he smoothed her hair and dreamed of better days. There was little else to be done, that he could do for her. Holding her hand and thumbing through the thick tome would have to suffice. There wasn't anything to give up when all he had left was hope.

* * *

><p>"Wake up!"<p>

Soft hands worked at his brow, combing back the fringe he'd cultivated for that particular purpose. For years he'd kept his hair closely cropped to his skull. It worked for the Romans, so why not for quidditch, he'd reasoned. Until one day he'd caught her running her hands through the Potter boys hair after a task and jealousy had bitten him with a vengeance. He inhaled, breathing in the scent of nutmeg and spices she'd baked into their dessert on her skin, fragrant and tempting. He cracked his lips as he caught her hand with his own, lavishing kisses onto the smooth skin there as she laughed and tried to pull away, unwilling to rise from his comfortable position.

"Wake up, you!" She tried again, blowing at his eyelashes, leaning back as he lunged forward to capture her lips. Facing opposites, he gently bit down to drag open her bottom lip, licking the plump tissue as she squeaked in surprise before opening to him. He groaned, giving in as he opened his eyes to stare up into her flushed face from his vantage point on her lap. Noticing her blushing gaze flitting off to the side, he opportunely rolled to imprison her on her back in the cool grass, pinning her to ground with his body as she gasped in surprise.

His gaze met hers hungrily, eyes roaming over her pinked cheeks and the small bits of flower that remained in her hair. He'd woven them into a chain for a crown, then promptly torn it to shreds as his fingers bit into her braided length as he'd loved her under the mid-morning sun. He felt down with his hands to brush against her skirt, feeling the evidence of his past passion as she bit her lips in embarrassment. He rumbled his amusement at her demure behavior, teasing his clever fingers against the soft skin at her hips until her eyes met his own once more.

Viktor leaned in, patiently brushing his lips against her own in the lightest caress as she sighed into his mouth. Hermione's lips trembled against his own, nervous fingers biting into his loose tunic as he began to recite the sonnets in Bulgarian, counting his devotion to her as he attempted to reign in his racing heart from ravishing her thoughtlessly. It wouldn't do to frighten his sweet girl, his freshly loved summer queen with his bottomless appetite.

But how he wanted her. In every way.

"I do not vant to vake, if this ist dream?" He smiled into her hair as he pressed himself into her cradling hips, reveling in her small cries of pleasure. The breathtaking vista behind him, the meadow marked only by his abandoned cloak wasn't far from his little cabin, but he'd been unable to draw himself away from the lure of the summer flowers to see her properly claimed in his bed. He'd made do, cushioning her with his magic as he'd taken her first under a majestic oak on his cloak, her maidenhead and his pleasure seeping into her upraised skirt to stain the fabric he'd so lovingly caressed.

A groan escaped his lips as he found her already damp against his probing digits, mouth moving in openmouthed kisses along her clavicle until he reached her breasts, drawing up her camisole to suckle at her spiced skin. Carefully, gently he moved to stretch her channel with his fingers, leaning up to watch her eyes widen, small lips parted in wonder as his thumb began to circle her sensitive flesh.

"Are you not-," he began to question her soreness, but was cut off when Hermione lifted up to latch onto his mouth with a choked sigh, flooding his mouth with cinnamon before she disengaged to answer his question.

"I'm fine, thank you."

He melted at her shy politeness, eyes tender as stared down at her half lidded gaze, withdrawing his hand to open his placket as her hips rolled against him. Then it was flesh against flesh, and he felt his desire straining at it's confines as he slipped wetly against her, rubbing against the spot she so enjoyed, his palms moving to twine her fingertips into his own. He caught, slipping into her so suddenly that they both gasped with the sensation. Her hands slipped from his own to clutch at his back, gasping at the painfully full stretch. He stilled.

"__Liubov moia_._" He began to babble, phrases of love and how much he cherished her gift, letting his ardor once again overflow into his mother tongue as fought to keep himself from moving.

She gasped, moaning beneath him as she opened her hips wider to accommodate his girth. He slipped deeper into her depths.

"I neffer vant to vake." He pressed kisses into her hair as he gave in to his need to thrust into her, so slowly that he thought he'd chipped a tooth from gritting against the urge to become more rough than she could afford. "_Neffer vant to let go..._"

"_Viktor!_"

He woke, clutching at her curled hand with a half sob at finding the bed beneath them rather than meadow, summer faded.

* * *

><p>Sirius had crammed himself into a corner by the bed, perching on top of a chest of drawers so high he nearly bumped the vaulted ceiling. As it was he could reach out and monkey onto the molded plaster medallions that decorated the expanse.<p>

He had a wall against his back, flanked on either side as he kicked his feet against the antique brass pulls, but it was a small consolation to his anxious mind. It wandered, meandering down lanes of memories even as his grey rimmed pupils were fixed on the steady rise and fall of the sheets as Hermione breathed.

Memories and bodily safety were cold comfort, but he'd take what he could gather. They'd all taken turns keeping vigil now, watching the Krum heir as he slowly deteriorated was nearly as heartbreaking as counting the hours and passing windows of opportunity as they slowly slipped by, minimizing her chances to awaken intact.

Sirius had thought he'd been going slightly off. Viktor had worn himself down pacing near the windows, blowing off the energy gained from a quick lie in when the Marauder first thought he'd spotted the twitch. Wishful thinking he surmised, as he'd glued his burned out gaze onto her face as Viktor settled himself in with a book to continue his lecturing. She didn't move an inch at the approach, drying up his racing spirits. His imagination.

The he noticed her body slowly beginning to curl to the side as the younger wizard began to speak.

Hermione was a side sleeper. Given the chance she'd curl up into a ball like a contented kneazle, so lying on her back as they'd positioned her out of medical necessity was an unnatural state for the small witch. Something that, to his disbelieving eyes, she was obviously trying to rectify.

The dark wizard watched, eagle eyes following her slow progression with a warmth that spread to thin the ice that had taken up permanent residency in his gut. It was a good sign, the best they'd had since Snape had assured them all she was the only witch in centuries to have survived as long as she had after exposure to this particular tincture of death.

Viktor, unaware, continued to read out loud, rolling Slavic burr gentle as he hunched over the thick tome he'd nearly halved in the last day. Sirius allowed a half smile to twitch his lips as he waited patiently for the Bulgarian man to notice. Minutes passed, and Hermione had curled in on herself inch by inch.

Watching the young lovers face unfold into overflowing jubilation was worth his own silence and restraint. Viktor fairly unhinged when he looked up after finishing the chapter he'd been pursuing to find her face tilted towards his own. The book clattered to the floor as he rose to to hover over her, hands feeling her form for what his eyes didn't believe.

Sirius blinked back tears of his own as the boy wept with relief, rocking her still slumbering body to a praise filled exclamation of miracles unceasing.

* * *

><p>Snape hovered with his eyes open to her own, thin hands pressing back her eyelids as Viktor twitched to rip the digits off her face and leave her in peace. The older man withdrew, disengaging before turning to face the group of men who were bunched together in the small sitting room.<p>

"She's unresponsive. She's there, but isn't reacting to introduced stimuli, just as you said. All it means is that you'll have to wait for her to emerge naturally. If you try and draw her out of her mind before she's ready you may damage her faculties."

Viktor clenched his hands together, fighting down his impatience at his utter lack of ability to be helpful in the situation he found himself. It was frustrating, and his immediate instinct was to immerse himself in her mind to see if she had recovered mentally. Snape had yanked him out of the chair he'd been perched in before he could steady himself for a third descent into her dreamscape, trying to get her to react to his presence within it's nearly immutable confines.

"Let her rest and stay out of her mind. I don't care how tempted you are to meddle. It will do more harm than good."

The younger man grunted, staring out of the window sullenly as he surreptitiously watched the older wizard straighten Hermione's bedclothes around her now curled form. He stooped, moving the pillow to cradle her neck more fully, before straightening to pin Viktor with a sneer.

"I mean it, Mr. Krum. So far you've been... surprisingly adept at following logical suggestions, do not fail me in this matter. She is not without the mental capacity to ward off her own nightmares. So leave off."

"I understand, sir. Thank you, sir." He relented, bowing in deference to the older mans well meaning diatribe.

"See that you do. I've matters to attend to at my business most pressing, I must take leave. You know how to contact me if necessary." He bowed his way out, pausing to gather the few ingredients he hadn't taken back to his shop yet after straightening the few potions he was leaving behind in case of accident. "Good day to you, Mr. Krum."

"Thank you much, Master Snape."

The entire room seemed to relax with the potion masters absence, Sirius stretching out his legs from the settee to rest on top of the coffee table. Harry shook his head at his godfather's manners before moving to kick his legs out from under him, shoving them off the polished wood with a sturdy boot; Sirius only huffed. The two Weasley brothers sat opposite one another in the armchairs, Viktor still hovering near the bed.

"He's a bit transparent, don't you think?"

Charlie shot his brother a confused look, both surprised at the commentary as much as he was lost on the thought behind it.

"I thought you'd both be having a go at one another, but instead he scurries off at the first sign of success." George chucked his chin at Sirius, and the older wizard grunted before elbowing Harry as he raised his brow. "Come to an understanding, have we?"

"Not exactly, no." Sirius's eyes were pinned on the ceiling, face unmoved.

"Makes two of you then," pointed out Charlie, referring to George's spur of the moment emotional generosity towards the Malfoy heir.

"Hmph."

Silence again filled the void as Viktor paced in front of Hermione's bed, working himself down before he hunkered down into the chair he'd stationed next to the four poster.

Harry was the first to take the plunge. "What was she doing, then?"

Viktor fiddled with a bedcurtain, straightening the tie before responding. "Reminiscing."

"That's damnably vague, Krum."

He grunted non-responsively, smoothing her sheets into place himself.

* * *

><p>"Harry?"<p>

He was sitting at the kitchen table, glasses off as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Contrary to popular belief, he _had_ studied at Hogwarts. Just not a lot. The Academy of Aurors was teaching him new and improved reading habits.

"Are you.. are you _studying_?"

"Yes. Yes, Hermione, I am." His reply was as dry as Ginny's chicken. He was still trying to wash it down with a good lager an hour after they'd sat down dinner, and he'd finish it if it killed him. Her first attempt at cooking hadn't come close to the horror that was Aunt Petunia's pottage.

"Are you ill?"

"Oh, shove off." He bit into a thigh, moving to swig some alcohol to make the chewing go faster. It was surprisingly edible however much she'd cried after taking it out of the oven.

"If you keep eating that, you really will be."

Harry set down the chicken thigh, eying her with a purposeful glare. "Say one word to her and I'll un-invite you," he swished his quill for good measure.

"You can't un-invite me, you ponce, I'm the Maid of Honor." Hermione had perched on a sideboard, picking at the remains of the chicken carcass with a bemused look of pity.

"Just you see, Missy Granger. I have my ways."

"Your ways usually involve chocolate and sex, and I know for a fact that Ginny's cut you off until your honeymoon." He sputtered. "So what now?"

"Damnit, Hermione." Harry threw down his quill, glaring at the diagram he'd been working on for the last two hours. Then he moved to glare at Hermione. "I was _trying_ to _study_."

"God, I never thought I'd see the day." She doubled over laughing as he angrily took a bite of his chicken, never breaking eye contact in his narrow eyed glower. She only laughed harder.

He shivered, startling himself out of memory. Stomping his feet to keep them warm, Harry took a nip from the flask Ginny had given him for a birthday as he tried to forget the taste of minging chicken and cheap beer. The garden trip had been meant to clear his thoughts, but all he'd ended up doing was drinking himself into a maudlin mess. Turning around, he glanced up to Hermione's window, raising his silver encased firewhiskey in an impromptu toast.

"Chin, chin, love."

* * *

><p>He thought he would go mad for the waiting. Her mind was intact. That much was certain. But how would she wake? Would she remember the past month? The past year? What if she didn't remember him at all?<p>

What if she would never remember him, remember herself?

Viktor cradled her palm, kissing the center of her cupped fingers before turning a page and continuing to read. He'd become convinced that his method had worked, and he would continue to utilize the only tool in his arsenal if he spoke his voice into damage from overuse. A long time ago she'd told him she found his voice soothing. Perhaps that would help.

The exercise also kept him from doing something stupid. He'd been absolutely giddy when he'd dropped into her mind and found her reading by the lake at Hogwarts. That happiness had been tempered when he realized he was unable to interact with her, but it was still an extremely good development towards her regaining consciousness and lucidity. He'd wanted to crawl inside her dreamscape and emerge only when she did.

Apparently that was not to be so. Her hand tightened against his, and his heart leapt in it's cage as he dropped the book onto the bed beside her to kiss each of her fingertips. She'd promised him a place in her heart, and he'd be damned if he didn't reclaim it no matter the circumstances. If he had to win her over for a third time, he would gracefully acquiesce. He'd kiss Potter and make him family. _Anything_.

He was startled out of his thoughts as George and Charlie slummed back into the room, George staggered over to flop down at the desk as his brother settled into a chair facing the bed, waving a hand at Viktor in greeting. The dragon tamer wearily eyed his younger brother with suspicion as the former twin pulled out parchment and quill, hastily scribbling before pausing to glare at the ceiling for a moment.

"What are you doing, George?" Charlie sounded as tired as Viktor felt, but he'd never had a muggle blood transfusion to compare the exhaustion to his own experiences.

"Making a list of things to say to her so she'll want to wake up and tear the Mickey out of me." Quill was dipped in ink and he was scribbling again, head down as he didn't even look up to respond to the query.

"That's a lot of, er... things."

"I'm sticking to actual facts. Shorter that way."

"Such as?" Charlie leaned forward, looking genuinely interested, and even Viktor's interest had been piqued.

"She got us sent to Filch twenty times her first year alone. _Twenty times_."

The other redhead coughed, smothering a laugh. "Any more more recent incidents, brother dear?"

"Made me break a Wizards Oath when she appartated to sodding Bulgaria instead of going home like I'd promised. I got the worst case of food poisoning from the Leaky I have _ever_ endured."

"But I release you from Oath vhen I see she is there," Viktor looked up from fingering his book, puzzled.

"Oh." He paused, eyeballing the list before crossing a section off with a hasty swipe of his quill. "Stay away from the shepherds pie then."

Both the other wizards turned to lock eyes, shaking their heads before abandoning each other to their own introspection. None of them had ever been praised for patience, but the combination of all the anxious men grouped together did little to help morale.

"Wake up, damnit."

Viktor gave in to a snort as George voiced what they were all thinking in their own way.

* * *

><p><strong>Translations:<strong> __Liubov moia_ –_ My love. Thanks again to Ziminar for the the translation!

**Author's Note:** The latter half of this nearly killed me. I think I wrote myself out of my skull during their little romp in the fields. I'm rather good at writing myself into corners, so, I'm interested in seeing how well packaged this all turns out as much as you are (these things tend to take on a life of their own after a while). I've been watching a metric ton of BBC shows, so, I'm hoping my Americanisms aren't nearly as heavy handed as well. It's hard to kill those verbal fall-backs in speech pattern.

To **Kyria of Delphi**, I feel extremely relieved to hear that you're doing well. I have a much loved Aunt, who didn't have cancer or other more involved disease pattern, but her Lupus required her to have chemo treatments for a short while. Absolutely dreadful stuff. Must say though that I'm _extremely_ jealous of your impending trip and celeb meeting (literally the stuff dreams are made of lol). Assuming you're going to see the Wizarding World, have a pint of butterbeeer on me. I wish it came in twenty four packs XD My personal challenge for tomorrow is to try out one of the recipes I've found for an approximation of the Universal Studios version. I hope you enjoy yourself!

To **Ziminar**, I apologize profusely for any really silly mistakes. I'm utilizing a translator as best I can for my Bulgarian, an I'm somewhat embarrassed to say that I have no fact checker for that aspect of the text at all. I'm very glad to know that I've not made too much of a mess of things linguistically! I also relish any correction, since this story is completely un-betaed too. If you have any specific passages which really turned you around phrasing wise or suggestions on more accurate Bulgarian, I'd be very much obliged if you'd leave me a review or shoot me a message with any particulars. I appreciate the feedback!

To all my faithful reviewers, huge thanks for all the lovely comments you continue to leave. It's really, really nice to have repeat reviewers to let me know that people are still enjoying things as they progress. It's also nice incentive to get a move on for updating as I work on chapters, so hopefully I can cut down the editing time. Nice weather helps too. I hope everyone is enjoying the summer as much as I am!


	23. Chapter 23

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse, sexuality)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Twenty-Three**

"Put your wand away, Charlie."

He snarled, towering over the gasping man as he shook with rage.

"For you own sake, Charlie, _stand down._"

Charlie's deep auburn hair, wet with perspiration and spattered with blood, fairly vibrated with the force of his anger. He took deep, heaving breaths to bring himself back from the brink, vision whitening as his emotions boiled over.

"But he-", he began to bit out, spitting in his rage as the other man began to aspirate blood, red froth blooming on his maniacally grinning lips as Hermione dragged the dragon tamer away from his mostly dead prey.

"I know." Her voice was hard, unyielding. "Just let it go. He's not worth the danger and we haven't got the time."

George had only just told him the whole sordid tale over a pint the night before, and he'd had to get his little brother good and drunk for him to spill his guts on the matter. It was why he knew it was something he'd needed to know for the effort. George had promptly sworn him to secrecy. Obviously, no longer necessary. Sloppy drunk, his brother had stumbled over his tongue, taking multiple pauses to re-lubricate his glass so that he was comfortably numb enough to make it through the story in it's entirety.

They'd been separated during the attack, a monstrously large Bombarda Maxima throwing up a debris screen so dense he'd been barely able to tell arse from wand. Fighting blind as Remus had struggled to clear the air of pulverized concrete and wood, he'd been drawn down a nearby alleyway by the screaming.

The screaming had been Hermione, magically restrained by a Death Eater. The dark robed man had a hand up her skirt, his other hastily shoving aside his trouser placket with purpose. Hermione later explained that she had caught the man with a slicing hex before being downed herself, and when George went mad at the sight, he'd caught the perpetrator fully in the face with a hex, knocking askew his mask to reveal his identity before the Death Eater wisely apparated away from the scene.

Antonin Dolohov. They all knew what could have, more than likely would have occurred if the dark wizard had remembered a silencing charm. It was what had landed him in Azkaban during the first rise of the Dark Lord, after having been caught one night while sloppily disposing of a young muggleborn witch's body into a dumpster somewhere in the East End of London. Charlie had gotten himself blissfully drunk after hauling George to bed for mostly the same reason as his brother had drowned himself in ale; trying to wipe the image of Hermione's would be ravaged face out of his mind.

Charlie had been positioned in her next escort during a supply hunt around London, and when a spell blasted the masks off of their opponents revealing the face he'd been searching for ever since he'd sniffed out that particular rumor, he'd gone wild. Taking one more glance at the blond's remorseless grin, he kicked the dying man in the ribs once more before Hermione attempted to further yank his arm out of its socket.

Charlie was quite literally jolted out of his memories, cursing, as he pulled his arm backwards from the door. His daft brother had spelled it to sizzle after he'd tried to bang him out of their shared bathing quarters twice in the past quarter hour. He kicked the door with gusto once more before flopping into a nearby chair to wait his turn, turning his mind to happier interludes.

* * *

><p>Thunder crashed, startling him out of a light sleep as he rested his upper body against the bed. He took a deep gulp of air, dragging his hands across his face as he looked out the window to take in the weather. A warm front had clashed against the ever deepening chill surrounding the valley, and his land was caught in the middle of it. Heavy rain beat against the windows. He wondered how the aurors stationed in the outer perimeter were fairing against the bad weather.<p>

Viktor quickly looked down, gauging Hermione's expression. She loved watching lightening storms while awake, but in sleep she had a tendency to let the noise filter into her dreams with unsettling clarity. Certain spells mimicked the rumble of thunder and the crack of lightening, and they weren't pleasant ones. Her mouth had settled into a frown, brow crumpled against her shut eyes as he smoothed her hair back from her face.

Spells could only do so much for cleanliness, so Ginny had dropped by the day before to wash her hair and give her a proper bath. Between Viktor and Ginny it had taken them the better part of two hours to untangle all the snarls that had taken hold in her waist length mane. Afterwards, Ginny had braided it back in an elaborate if more effective coif as Viktor watched, trying to figure out how the five strands fit together for future reference.

Small tendrils were already escaping, glinting gold as lightening flashed through the darkened windows, thunder rolling so deep that it shook the glass in their frames. She shifted, restlessly, and Viktor clamped a lip between his teeth as he fought against himself.

The magnitude of his guilt was immeasurable. Though none of the men, at least outwardly, seemed to begrudge him their relationship or even his hand in her condition, he still felt the slight against his ability to protect her keenly. However much she would protest at the idea he was well aware the she lay in the bed before him solely because of his rekindling of their romantic relationship. And that fact settled onto his burgeoning entitlement to his feelings, having bound himself to her, like a shroud.

He didn't feel that he had the right to touch her for his own comfort with such a sin on his soul, but at times it was an impossible urge to fight. He set aside his tumultuous thoughts as she began to moan, curling tighter in on herself in distress. Thoughts on what might be floating through her unconscious sapped his will, making him curse Snape and his instructions to stay out of her thoughts with a vengeance.

Viktor took a long, shuddering breath before he kicked off his boots, climbing slowly and carefully into the bed with her, wrapping his arms around her body in comfort. His hands shook as he trailed fingers up and down her back. Small cries began to drop from her lips, and in response he huddled her closer against his chest. She was so warm, so soft in his arms, and his heart ached to know that he'd had a hand in her pain.

* * *

><p>Harry stamped his boots against the wet before remembering that he could spell them dry. Shaking his head, he drew his wand to remedy the damp chill between his toes. Although it had taken him a while, he'd come to accept the fact that reaching for a spell would never be second nature to him. However brilliantly useful. He loved magic.<p>

Hermione would have understood. Despite his earnest wish to fit into their world and his amazement at making real and lasting male friends, as well as his very happy marriage, there were still some things that because of her background only Hermione could truly relate to. He'd never realized the full extent of Ron's self centeredness and his at times dizzying lack of empathy until they were on the run and every instance of his selfishness had rather spectactularly blown up in their faces. Harry had tried over and over again over the years to reconcile who he wanted Ron to be as a friend to the reality of the genuine article, coming up short every time.

This past debacle being the very breaking point. His mother in law had done her best to smooth things over between them during their post-honeymoon welcome home party at The Burrow, but that ship had already long sailed. While he had some lingering remorse at parting ways with his longtime friend in such a way, he had made a promise to himself never to let the all boys club sentimentality color his vision when dealing with Ron again in the future. His involvement in Hermione's troubles with his former best friend had weighed heavily on him over the past few days, but he'd put feet to ground in moving past his guilty conscience.

His thoughts shifted, moving to more immediate actions. Their plan was slowly being pieced together, and he'd gone with Todo earlier in the day to scope out several potential staging areas. In the end it had been decided that the best of the chosen locations was a small public square just outside of Vrasta itself. It was often used for publicity events by the Vultures, making it unassuming, and the space was open enough that their backup could blend into the crowd organically while easily covering all blind spots.

Now all they were waiting for was Viktor's go ahead. Even Sirius had been shocked at the mans reticence in the days after she'd fallen ill. It had done Harry no favors, as the Bulgarian's concentration was shot despite the mans best efforts to throw himself into planning his tormentors downfall. He'd walked around the grounds as if he himself had one foot in the grave rather than Hermione, and so the bulk of the planning had been left up to Todo and Harry, Todo very begrudgingly when he realized he'd been shouldered with a foreign auror with little understanding of the local ley lines or customs.

Harry hoped, for all their sakes, that she'd wake before one or all of them went stark raving mad for the waiting. He sighed, letting the sound of the rain overflowing from the eaves soak into his troubled thoughts. Somehow he already felt unburdened by imagining it all washing away with the rain. Harry was an optimist. It was only a matter of time. He could feel it in his bones. He knocked on the wood of the threshold for good measure before moving to bed down for the night.

* * *

><p>Hands, gentle and smooth, traced down his face. He could feel the trace of fingertips across his lips, over his cheekbones and through his ever lengthening beard. He hadn't the heart to keep up with his face in the last week, and the normally neatly trimmed goatee had grown into a shaggy mess of a winters growth in the process. A dim memory of a few faded mornings such as this one trailed through his foggy consciousness, before clarity reared it's ugly head.<p>

He had to be dreaming.

The last actions he'd taken the night before had been to lay down next to her, if only for comfort, and Viktor was unequivocally certain that he'd fallen asleep in that position. Exhausted, he'd only meant to hold her until she had quieted, but he'd given into temptation and rested his eyes.. then nothing. Which meant that he'd fallen asleep in her bed, shamelessly entangled with Hermione's unconscious and ill form.

And now he was dreaming, hallucinating the feeling of her touch as she traced the bags under his eyes, breath moist and heavy across his cheeks as she leaned in to press her face closer to his on their shared pillow. His breath came heavier, labored in his indecision. Fingers clenched into the sheets, body tense as he fought against the immediate and unquenchable desire to open his eyes to even _look_ to see if he could interact with his blessed hallucination. Worried, horrified that it would break whatever spell held him in thrall.

He opened his eyes.

And there she was, wan and pale in the morning light just inches from his face, bleary gaze biting into his own deadened stare as he tried to will himself to move for fear of startling her. Trembling hands reached out to intercept her own, bringing them to his chest as they convulsed around solid flesh instead of the dissolving phantom like air that he'd been tormented with so many nights before. Her hands were clammy, warm against his skin, and he fought back a moan at the contact.

"You are dream, yes?"

His mouth was filled with cotton, words sharp and jagged off his tongue even as he lifted a shaking hand to feather against her soft cheek. She leaned into his touch, and he could _feel_ her heated face like fire against his logical faculties, wish and reality melding. She blinked as he rubbed at her sheet creased face, his hands still unsteady.

"You were reading to me quite a bit, weren't you?" A small smile bloomed on her face, nose wrinkled as if she was trying to concentrate, making his heart skip a beat. It was too easy, too simple to believe. "I think I remember a bit of it, but you'll have to give me the text since everything's a bit fuzzy. It all blended into my trying to channel memories of downtime at Hogwarts."

Viktor's hands roamed, knuckles gliding down her cheekbones as he tried to breath in the experience of her awareness. It was all too much. His voice broke. "I dream you up as you should be, but vhen I vake up you vill be gone." She was shaking her head gently, but of course she would try to reassure him in his fantasies. Why was the air so thin? How could she feel so real and solid to the touch when he knew it couldn't last? "I cannot bear it." He choked, leaning in to press a desperate kiss to her palms as she moved to sit up, unwilling to let go oh her tangible form. "_Oh God_, I cannot bear it."

"I'm here, Viktor, oh please don't..." But he was already gasping for air, fighting against the press of thick waves of anguish that threatened to consume him as he shuddered with the weight "Oh _Viktor_. I was only asleep."

Still slowly coming to grips with the fact that he was not in fact asleep, dreaming their reunion up in his mangled grey matter, he blinked in hazy exhaustion to try and answer her properly. He could let himself have a proper nervous breakdown later, when he could let his tears fall behind closed doors and away from troubling the newly woken patient.

"Not sleep, like the dead. Ve didn't know if you wake up, or if you did if you vould be yourself. If I vould haff to learn you again, mila. I thought you vere gone." Voice gruff, it was all he could do to swallow back the knot in his throat.

She frowned, teeth nibbling on her lip in frustration. "But I thought there was an antidote. I'd read about one."

"Vone that doesn't alvays vork." His hands flexed around her sides, further reassuring himself that she was real.

"How long was I out for this time?"

"A veek and fifve days." And seven hours. And twenty minutes. The clock on her bedside seemed to brand itself into his vision as he blinked away, the habits of the past week stalking him with a vengeance. He let a smile dawn on his face, allowing hope to build. However tempered. "Vhat is the last thing you remember?"

"Yelling at Charlie to stop hyperventilating. He was panicking more than I was at that point." His grip on her had slackened, arms loosening from their vice like hold on her body as he began to force his body to calm despite his still racing heart. Hermione watched his eyes dilate as she wet her dry lips, wishing for a cup of water. She hated that feeling after waking up from a long sleep, the grit in her mouth for a dentists daughter was excruciatingly distasteful.

"Who is Minister of Magic? How old are you?" She smacked his chest, pinning him with a glare as he allowed his lips to twitch at her annoyance. "Luff, I vorry."

She sighed, burrowing her face into his chest, which he happily excepted with a contented rumble of his own. It was entirely surreal. After the struggle of keeping her alive, it was too impossibly easy and perfect an outcome to have expected, but he'd take his good luck where it chose to thrive these days.

"How are you feeling?" He drew her closer, arms closing around her as he enveloped her body in an attempt to feel the weight of her tactile flesh. As his betrothal band pressed into his skin, he dimly registered the comforting lack of what up until now had been ever present radiating pain from that particular limb. "Should I call doctor? Snape?"

He felt her shake her head, yawning. How could she possibly be tired after sleeping for so long? Viktor's own eyes were heavy, lulling against his cheeks in relief and the vestiges of shock. Her small hands clutched at the front of his tunic, anchoring herself to him as much as he was her own substantiality.

"I feel fine, just terribly thirsty and ravenous. But I honestly expected to find you at least slightly reassured." She paused, yawning noisily against his skin. "What with the Felix Felicis."

Viktor stilled, arms locking into a steel vice trapping her equally rigid from as she took in his numb bewilderment. Suddenly, his apprehension and apparent agony seemed all too telling.

"You didn't know." It wasn't a question. And the answer, obvious; playing out as the Bulgarian wizard began to heave again, wheezing in air as he fought to keep hold of his tenuous last shred of sanity. Curses, ones even she couldn't fully translate, began to slip past his lips as he dredged himself back into control of his faculties with difficulty.

"No. I did not."

"George didn't..? I thought I'd managed to tell George before I went under." Her fingers fluttered up from his chest against his chin, moving in aimlessly soothing patterns to soften the harsh lines of his face.

"I'd made some as a personal challenge, for Harry's birthday, and I'd taken to keeping the bottle on me in case Ron tried to filch it for some reason. When everything happened I took it on the off chance it might do something."

He groaned into her hair, hands convulsing under the strain of his duress. Coughing slightly, he forced his body to relax, letting his fingers fall to her sides with a harsh exhale as he threw his body off to the side on the large mattress, unwilling to collapse onto her delicate figure.

"I'm going to _murder_ George Veasley."

Hermione dissolved into quiet, hysteria tinged laughter at the horror of it all.

* * *

><p>The others reactions the next morning were nearly comical. George had clutched at his heart, feigning a heart attack before falling into his brother's arms, who was too busy manly choking back tears to yell at him. Sirius had grinned, widely, before attempting to flop onto the bed and nearly onto Hermione as Viktor growled and pushed him off and onto the floor instead. Harry had rather quietly gone to pieces as he held her hand, Hermione rolling her eyes to the sound of his groveling.<p>

She pulled her hand back, shaking it to get the blood flowing again before moving to tuck into a massive bowl of thin soup. Well aware that she needed to ease her stomach back onto solids, she still had mourned the lack of sausages and hotcakes when her tray had arrived. Pinching her nose, she tossed back a fortifying draught with a grimace. Snape had left her a bevvy of potions to build her strength back up, as well as her now babied muscles. She'd already penned a letter to him in thanks, updating him on her condition while making sure to leave a complaint about her legs still feeling like jello to give the man something to snark about. Pushing a headache potion towards Viktor, who was rubbing his aching skull already, she noisily clanked down her spoon into the rapidly dwindling bowl.

"Harry?" The bespectacled man paused mid sentence, sucking in air to start again as she preempted his deluge of apologies, "Do shut up."

His mouth audibly clicked together, jaw clenched as he slouched in his chair with a pout. Sirius snickered.

"I still think we should have Snape look you over." The pout gradually turned into a half glare at Sirius's half doubtful face. "Or at least have a mediwitch look you over."

Hermione sighed, patience wearing thin. "Harry, I _am_ a mediwitch. And I certainly don't want the local hospital, who managed to not catch my condition in the first place, to look me over past my own judgment. I trust their professional opinion about as far as I could garden-gnome-toss Hagrid."

Harry grumbled.

"Put myself through the paces last night, I'm perfectly healthy; if a little atrophied and undernourished from having lain in bed for a solid fortnight. I'm sure you'd enjoy explaining to Mr. Snape why you dragged him out to Bulgaria for no good reason."

"Yes, I _would_ like an explanation," came an unexpected, dry bass of familiar sarcasm.

All heads turned to stare at Snape, poised in the doorway with his potions kit slung over one shoulder, sneer firmly fixed on Harry's paling face.

"Oh dear." Hermione turned, looking between their faces before fixating on Viktor's notable lack of surprise with the beginnings of a glare. "When on earth did you-"

"I ovwled last night, after you vent to sleep." He shrugged, face stern against her rising frustration at his lack of remorse. "Peace of mind is vorth the galleons."

The ex-professor turned to glower at Sirius as he snorted after the last remark. Snape had stalked over to heave his heavy baggage onto the floor, twitching his wand from his sleeve as he studied her face from a respectable distance. "Little difference it would make now that I'm here, Miss Granger, so spare us the lecture while I work if you're capable of containing yourself."

He outstretched a thin hand to gently tilt her chin, muttering a spell to refract light into her eyes, moving the wand back and forth before moving to palpate her throat. Hermione jumped when he pinched her arm, testing the elasticity of her skin after having taken her heart rate. Next he withdrew from his kit a syringe fitted to a curious looking phial, and took a blood sample as most of the room cringed with Hermione in sympathy. Snape then bent down, squatting on the floor in a mass of dark cloak as he clinked bottles together, searching through his stock for the right potion.

"Did you take the Felix Felicis before or after you concocted that potion?"

Hermione looked down, but Snape was still deftly turning each bottle to read their neatly inscribed labels, revealing little.

"Before"

"Ah." His tone of voice was so smug that she fairly twitched to unleash the full fury of her in depth explanation on him. She could have figured it out herself, given time and the added benefit of having all of her mental faculties running on full cylinders. "Following instinct, I presume?"

"Yes," she blurted out, strangled as the potion master's lips twisted upwards at her effort to not launch into an unnecessary lecture. She let out a startled yelp as he clapped his hands in front of her face, testing her reflexes as Viktor twitched in his seat next to her.

"You're very, very _lucky_ indeed that I didn't dose you with something that might have had a fatal interaction with the ingredients," he snarled, jamming his wand up his sleeve before pinning George with a withering stare that had him stiffening by reflex. Viktor straightened his back, anxiousness pouring off him in waves as the master began to examine the contents of the potion he'd fished out of his kit earlier to combine with the blood sample he'd taken from Hermione. With a few practiced twirls of the wrist, he held the bottle up to the light to scrutinize. He lowered it, looking to both Hermione and Viktor with pursed lips. "It's mostly been metabolized out of your bloodstream, but I'd expect the remaining poison to be excreted within two to three more days. Obviously we managed to counteract the most... dire ramifications, but keep me abreast if you experience any noticeable after effects."

The tension in the room evaporated, Viktor nearly sagging in his chair in relief.

"I told you, you silly, _silly_ man."

"By all rights, you should be dead and rotting." Sirius shifted in place, and Harry moved quickly to stop his tongue in his head with a firm hand to the shoulder before he started something unnecessary. "I wouldn't berate the boy for his worrying." Snape had bent down, starting to re-pack his kit, and when Viktor shot him a gratified look the sneer he was returned with told him to brace himself. "I would, however, berate him for planning his coup de grâce without you."

She picked up the bowl previously set aside on a nightstand, glaring into it's now congealed contents.

"Right. Off with the rest of you then."

Grumbling followed as the rest of the men slunk off to their respective watchdog duties, resumed as the previously resident aurors had been recalled. Their contract with the local ministry had expired the moment she'd woken up, and the recalled, if somewhat bedraggled Bulgarian aurors had been more than happy to abandon their rain drenched posts. Snape merely stood in silence next to the bed, watching with a disturbingly placid expression as they filed out of the room one by one, Sirius nipping in for a little love before Viktor kicked him in the back of his knee with a grimace. Viktor remained, even as Snape curled his lip with a withering stare at his obstinance.

Staring blankly at Viktor, he looked away before tugging a slightly crumpled letter out of the pocket of his equally rumpled looking frock coat. He looked as tired as his wardrobe seemed to imply, and Hermione's lips pressed together with a pang of guilt and irritation at having dragged him halfway across the world for what amounted to a glorified a bedside consultation. Looking for something to fiddle with, she began to fiddle with her spoon. She focused on the letter only when the man all but snatched the cold soup from her, shoving the letter into her hands in it's stead. She recognized the telltale postscript all too well.

The parchment suddenly felt leaden in her hands.

"I was asked to forward this on to you after I was called in on business the day before," he paused, surveying the dread in her expression with all knowingly. "Would you like me to open it for you..?"

"No? No..." She swallowed. "That's alright, thank you." Viktor shifted in his seat, restlessly, as the bottom dropped out of his waiting for her to lecture him about planning without her.

She opened the letter.

"To Miss Hermione Granger, Department of Theory and Experimental Medical Magic. We write with regret to inform you that your research grant (Proposal Cruc. 44499-SG) with St. Mungo's- and by extension it's subsidiaries- has been thusly terminated. This conclusion was reached by council, and can be appealed through the appropriate appellate coven given standing of one year and a day. Reasons pertaining to your release of contract being prolonged absence and the material risk of provided personnel and equipment, etc., full ruling to be provided upon request. Office space will be forfeit pending twenty working days, effects to be stored at cost following. Yours most apologetically, Mr. F. Boardland; Department of Staff and Creature Management."

It suddenly felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room, still and silent, leaving behind a vacuum in it's wake. Viktor was suddenly ramrod straight, as if to hide his hands reflexive grip on the seat of his chair.

"I've been sacked." Her voice was dry, humorous, belying the obvious hints of devastation that drifted from her form. "All my research..." The parchment drifted from her hands to the coverlet, released by her nerveless grasp.

"Can be continued through private foundations. Easily." Snape's eyes were fixated on Viktor as he snatched at the letter, face stoney though his actions betraying a wash of guilt and anger. He felt for the boy. "It's the least of your worries."

Her eyes were closed, body slack with acceptance and disappointment. "I feel like the fates are mocking me."

Snape scoffed.

The parchment crumpled under the Bulgarian's grip, and he turned with a speculative glare. "You know something."

"Hardly."

"Is it you? The letters?" The potions master merely rolled his eyes, and Viktor's narrowed. "Tell me."

"As if _I_ could infiltrate their ranks, lackwit." The fallout from the revelation of his true loyalties and the gravity of his subterfuge during the war had seared the front pages of publications across the wizarding world, rendering him incapable of melting into the underworld that still lingered.

"Can you two _please_ not argue, you're making my head ache." She was rubbing her bridge between two fingers, and both their jaws clenched shut, looking for all the world like petulantly angry little boys. "If they haven't already delivered them to my flat, could you pick up my records please? You're on my privacy waivers in case I'm.. indisposed."

The older man let an eyebrow rise, stiffening, before tersely nodding his head. The listing as next of kin was rather a shock, though professionally it made sense. Why leave her research to someone who wouldn't know how to make heads or tales of it? It was gratifying in it's own way, however unexpected.

"I'll put them with my own papers." Which were probably more securely held than the crown jewels. It was far too risky to post something so irreplaceable, and he wouldn't have the time to courier them over himself.

"Much appreciated."

Shouldering his pack, he nodded to Viktor, before heading quickly for the door. Hermione's face had twisted into a telling knot, and after his last visit, he'd seen enough of her tears to last a lifetime. The lock clicked softly behind his retreat, leaving them alone once more for the first time since she'd woken from her long slumber.

Viktor wordlessly took her hands, Hermione gripping them fiercely as she trembled and breathed deeply to cauterize the bleeding heart that had reopened in her chest. She'd worked hard, so very hard since her graduation after Hogwarts. Clawing her way up the ranks in her field, pushing past age and blood barriers, it had been work that was now rendered all for naught. While knowing her own worth, and that Snape was right in his assessment of her opportunities, it still stung to be ousted from her rightful position because of circumstances beyond her control. Circumstances that, by muggle law, should have been covered by workers rights.

Viktor scowled, outrage and newly minted frustration bubbling past the surface as he took measured breaths, thumbs circling her soft flesh.

"It isn't fair." Her voice was bitter upon giving in to the sentiment she hated exclaiming upon. Nothing was ever fair, and it was a child's observation, however often used. She felt childlike in her despair, however.

"No, it isn't."

He would fix this. When all of this was done, he was going to build her a life so sturdy and spellproof that the rest of the wizarding world would choke on her complete happiness.

* * *

><p><strong>Translations:<strong> _coup de gr__â__ce_ – (french) Death blow

**Author's Note:**

This summer has been a trying one. I lost a great chunk of this while writing, and had to start over from scratch. It was really, really difficult to start writing it again after that. I spent several long, tedious hours trying to remember what I'd written in exact, frustrated to bits. It's also wedding season, long work hour season, and social event season in general, so I've been out and about without the extra time to edit things to death like I usually do.

Also, please let me know if the formatting is a little wonky. I'm currently running my machine on Japanese region for it's character formatting in that language, so, I'm kind of worried it's made things look a little weird.


	24. Chapter 24

Title: This Once  
>Pairing: ViktorHermione  
>Rating: M (adult content, abuse, sexuality)<br>Summary: Could he make her whole again? "His heart was shattering in his chest, hemorrhaging his soul and bleeding his conscience dry."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Twenty-Four**

Two weeks had past. Two excruciatingly tedious, nail bitingly long weeks of strategical and logistical analysis fit to make George tear out his hair and send Hermione into fits of paroxysms at the sheer thought of the potential for collateral damage. Aside from the fallout after the Last Battle, at least for the newly reunited couple, it was an interminable abyss of tension fraught decision making and potentially life saving back up plans.

The turning point came at the arrival of two, hour interspersed clandestine communications from their yet to be identified informant on the whereabouts of their tormentor. Who was within country, and was intelligence gathering in time for them to plant their Trojan horse. Which, ironically, only made the time pass even slower with the fast upcoming date of the now set in stone fake publicity event.

One by one, the boys had been sent packing to give the two an air of seemingly blissful ignorance of any impending danger. Their entourages slow and unhurried departure would hopefully put off any suspicion as to the abruptness of their leaving them unprotected, but Hermione still had niggling doubts that shadowed the back of her mind. Uncertainty haunted them, even as they slowly moved back to some sense of normalcy while she slowly moved back to health.

The last to leave was Sirius. He'd dragged his feet, both figuratively and literally, until Viktor put his foot down, respected elder or none.

"Be prepared to get separated, and don't count on backup if it happens." They wouldn't have the luxury of debriefing with one another before the sting without causing suspicion, so he'd decided to unleash on her before leaving. Hermione had stomached the lecture for a half an hour before allowing herself to begin arguing against some of his less than logical requests. Sirius grimaced at the witch as she balefully nodded her head, eye rolling as she scanned the shelves for something entertaining to read. "Listen to me, damnit."

She glared at him once before slamming a book she'd been examining on the shelf, grabbing the one next to it with purpose. Silence was her only response.

"You're barking mad, the both of you," he bit out between clenched teeth as he surveyed Hermione's shaky trudge towards the warmth and comfort of an armchair nearest the fire. She'd ensconced herself in the library for the day, which by the particular time of year was now both drafty and flinchingly cold to her overly sensitive frame. "It's not even that I don't feel comfortable leaving you unprotected, I don't feel comfortable leaving you in the bloody room by yourself, let alone the damn house."

"Do quit fussing. I'm unwell, not bedridden." She calmly opened her book to a marked page, attempting to ignore the older mans tantrum and enjoy the tantalizing library she'd been deprived of for most of her stay.

"You were as yet three days ago, witch." He bristled as she ignored him. "And stop treating me like a doddering old fool. I'm concerned for you, not daft."

"You're concerned for me _and_ daft."

"I find amusing many things that shouldn't be humorous, but leaving you collapsed in a room unable to attend yourself isn't one of them."

She snapped the book shut with irritation. "I haven't taken my potion yet today because it makes me drowsy, which in turn leaves me slightly unsteady on my feet. I'm _fine,_ Sirius."

"Damned foolish." His face was dark, mouth set into deep groves that time had not treated as kindly as his former vanity would have liked, black curls falling across his tented fingers as he hunched over to glower at her. "Damned foolish, the lot of us for not handing Krum up on a platter after stuffing you somewhere no one could hear your incessant shrieking."

"Then why haven't you," she snapped, "Oh Black Knight of mine."

"Because your _Liege_ already suggested it." His voice was gruff and conflicted, and the inference was all too clear. That by placing his own life heaped before her own he'd earned the Marauder's trust. However begrudgingly won.

"I'd never forgive you." Her eyes were hard, his nearly so before he sniffed, as if dismissing her threat. "We took down Voldermort, I'm not afraid of one man's drawn out grudge, no matter how cleverly lain."

"You should be." He'd sat up to pace in front of the window, and she wondered if that's what he'd looked like in his jail cell, caught between two conflicting paths. "You bloody well should, kitten. Know thy enemy; you knew what he was. This is an unknown quantity. Both your foe and your inside source." He rubbed at his goatee, eyes dark and flinty.

"Sirius, what would you do if you were in my position?"

Hated, he _hated_ her rhetorical questions. He paused, looking at her with a piercing eye that had her wriggling in her seat in discomfort, before pacing a circuit only to flop back down on the couch he'd been occupying before. "Probably the same, only more half-cocked and by the seat of my pants." She sniffed. "And with more liquor involved. Obviously."

"Idiot." She shifted in her seat. "I'm not running into this blind, I just don't have any other choice."

The prior was more of an affectionate term than actual conjecture, and Sirius tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling as if it held the answers to his unwillingness to leave. Viktor had politely, and firmly, told him he needed to leave within the hour, despite his body language telegraphing that he'd much rather toss him out a window and be done with it. Following logic never had been his strong point, however. He'd much rather follow his gut instinct, which screamed at him to grab Hermione and drag her to Harry's wife kicking and screaming, before she had a chance to unleash the very trap he'd helped create.

"We rarely do." He'd learned that truth with skinned knees. "Do you remember the first night I spent back at Grimmauld's? "

His eyes closed, and he could almost taste the terror of that first night back in his childhood home. They were all brittle, worn down from the battle and the mental and physical scars were still so fresh and bleeding that he hadn't the heart to voice his own personal demons that surfaced at having to sleep in what he'd easily enough come to see as his second prison. It came as no surprise when he'd launched himself out of a deep and tormented sleep cycled shouting himself hoarse, Hermione's haunted looking face floating out of the darkness of his old room like a beacon in a storm. They'd spent the rest of the night drinking tea (his with a bit more than just tea) and trying not to say anything upsetting to one another in the slightly more welcoming kitchen. Her awkward, earnest companionship had become an anchor in those first few days.

"Yes." Hesitant. Ah, kitten. Never quite the fearsome cat when it came to compliments.

He sighed. "I don't think I've ever thanked you for anything you've ever done, and I'm not going to start now. Harry would have me committed."

"Stop it." She tossed a throw pillow at him, incensed. "It's not like you won't be there at the sting, and neither of us do goodbyes very well."

Sirius stood, dusting his immaculate trousers off before donning a thick, well tailored jacket that hugged his frame just a little too well. Hermione eyed his wardrobe bemusedly, reflecting on how the soul of a dandy continued to live on despite all other concessions to reclusiveness. The morning sunlight caught the few greying strands that laced his black mop, and she forced herself to blink away any signs of his advancing years. She frowned.

"You're going to get cold without a hat."

An eyebrow raised, tattooed fingers lacing themselves through his jet curls with a rakish grin. "And cover this up? Love, I'm Sirius Black."

"I forgot that you required a _shield __helmet_ instead."

The bark of laughter that followed made waiting through his previous posturing only a little less grating on her nerves.

* * *

><p>The rest of the day had been spent quietly attempting to work through her restless nerves, over-thinking every aspect of the past month in doomsday scenarios that left her friendless, dead, or a spinster, or combinations of all three.<p>

Which was how Hermione found herself creeping through the corridors by wandlight, only just managing to stifle an earth-shattering shriek as she was suddenly and brusquely pulled into a dark room. She cast a stinging hex on reflex, and she was met with loud cursing in an all too familiar tone and language. Hands, rough and firm, steadied her as she reeled off balance after Viktor's grip faltered from the rather intense burn that coursed up and down his arms. He snapped a phrase in Bulgarian, and the sconces flared to life to reveal what he'd both hoped was and wasn't true. Hermione's yet pale face was illuminated in the flickering light, and while he'd rather her than someone unknown lurking in the house, she was supposed to have been resting after seeing Sirius off earlier in the day.

"Vitch, how many times I must tell you-," he began, rumbling with a hint of anger.

"To call Padushka when I need something, I _know_, Viktor. I didn't need anything, I was looking for _you_."

"Ah." A grumble. "Still should haff called elf." He shifted, shuffling from side to side even as he hefted her into his arms despite her scowl at his coddling. She smacked his chest as he lifted her feet out from underneath her entirely, sconces lighting before them as he walked back down the corridor to her room. "Stubborn voman."

"I did, you overbearing clod. She wasn't sure where you were and I was practically certain I already did. Why bother the poor thing." Viktor looked down at her at the excuse, pining her with a withering stare that she'd become immune far too long ago for it to have been worth the effort.

"Vaht is vord? Clod?"

Hermione snorted as he paused to juggle her into one arm, opening the door. "You always don't know those kind of words. Conveniently."

Viktor's lip curled, and he exhaled a puff of air that was more of a mark of concession than a chuckle."Rather."

He flopped down onto the corner of settee that had taken the place of her trunk at the foot of the bed, having set her down against it's other arm. Huffing, she leaned tiredly against the well padded brocade, taking in his rather worn and weary appearance. They'd barely had a moment to themselves in the handful of days she'd had at full consciousness, and he'd born the brunt of the last minute planning mostly without her. It showed. The beard that had half grown in before was now well padded, though slightly more neat and trimmed. Today had been spent brainstorming with Todo about the contents of their fake announcement, something that was ultimately unimportant but necessary, which was why it had been left on the back-burner until now.

Less than two days to go, really. She'd found herself waking at odd hours of the morning and evening, unaware of the normal day passing her by as she dozed off in the middle of planning sessions, and today wasn't an exception. Hermione tired so easily that besides her own chagrin at her lack of stamina she was only made more disgruntled at realizing that Viktor was keeping close to the opposite of hours, barely resting in his near manic attempt to rehash every detail Todo and Harry had worked out without him. Entry points and blind-spots were surveyed, potions stockpiled, until now in the early morning of the final forty-eight hours before the operation she was worried he just might explode from the anticipation of it all.

"You need to rest, Viktor. You're working yourself silly." She laced their fingers together, watching with concern as his eyes slide half shut, face closed off from her calculated gaze.

"You should be resting too." He pressed an errant kiss against the back of her hand, the most affection she'd seen from him in the past two days. "Your health..."

"Is on track. My mental stability; not so much. I need you here with me. Physically and mentally." His eyes quickly fixated on her, snapping instantly out of the distanced gaze he'd maintained before her accusation. She was chewing on her lip, head ducked down as she averted her eyes."I need you. I can't do this if you're still blaming yourself for what's been done to me. Not when something worse might happen and this is all the time we'll have been given."

His chin tipped forward to rest against his tunic, exhaling deeply, before he tugged her against him by their intertwined hands. His beard was rough and wiry against her brow, and his other hand cupped their digits with tenderness before he let go to wrap both arms around her. Hermione sank into his embrace, nearly melting at the reassuring heat given off by his ever steady rise and fall of his chest. He traced patterns on her spine, hands going unsteady in his effort to hold back the torrent of emotions he'd been walling up since her recovery.

"I feel..." He paused, registering the vestiges of guilt resurfacing. "Responsible." He shushed her, pressing her back to his chest as Hermione's head rose from his tunic to dissuade him. "It is my fault, has been heavy in my mind since you fall ill.

"Vehn I vant more from you, and it ends vith you so close to death because of my vants," his head tilted onto hers, pressing his cheek into her hair for comfort, "Ah, loff, is too much."

"You're punishing us both." Her murmur was both sad and slightly reproaching. "I.. I had felt badly enough about starting a relationship so soon after..."

He swallowed hard at the truth of her words, that his self reproofing actions had been so hurtful on top of an already tenuous emotional situation had his already full cup overrun with guilt. "I didn't realize."

"I know," she hesitated, "and it _isn't_ your fault, I'm sure you know that."

"I just.. I had no right..." He exhaled, gripping her before raggedly continuing, "All I can think is that my hands cause this, and that you suffered because of me." He shook his head, rubbing his chin against her softly as she jumped to defend him, one hand quieting her as he caressed her face before embracing her fully once more. "It's painful to see you hurting, mila."

She scoffed. "All that ruddy potion did was force me to catch up on my sleep. Then I woke up with what felt like a terrifically debilitating head-cold. Things seem to have been much more painful on your end, thank you very much." Hermione squeaked as he squeezed her tightly at her ribbing.

"Let me feel bad about my fault, voman. Vhat kind of vizard am I if I... 'love' you to death?" His voice was rife with irony.

"A talented one?" Helpless giggles tumbled out of her mouth as he rubbed his scratchy beard across her neck, tickling her sensitive skin. "Will you lay down with me?" Her voice was both tentative and half embarrassed, head still tucked under his own as her hands tightened into the fabric of his tunic. "Hold me for a little while?"

"Vhat?" Warmth. Amusement. His breath tickled across her cheek, huffing his obvious pleasure at her request.

"_Please_ don't make me ask again." Mortification colored her voice, washing away the leftover ache from her previous disclosure.

"You vant me to hold you." His hands pulled her closer into his embrace, and she sighed. Viktor grinned into her hair, the tight fisted ball inside his chest expanding back to the form it was supposed to be. "_Just_ to hold you?"

"Yes." Her voice was still small, and he couldn't help but snicker at her reluctance.

His grin was broad and crooked as he gave in to her request, and he fumbled on purpose as he quickly swept her into his arms abruptly, making her shriek and pound on his back as he laughed at her reaction to his teasing. Which, upon his lack of remorse, quickly turned into a pout as she squirmed out of his arms onto the bed and away from his touch. He coughed a bit, attempting to pass off his remaining mirth as something it wasn't, but it was more for show than a convincing ploy to either party.

"Kote," he crooned as she sniffed, rolling away from him as he sat down to strip out of his boots. "Kote, I thought you vant to be beside me?"

He laughed softly as she bit her lip, turning onto her side away from him out of spite. Fingers plucked at the buttons of his tunic, and then he shucked the too-warm layer, stretching his broad shoulders before laying down behind her. She melted into him, back arching into his torso as he wrapped one arm around her, firmly pulling her further into himself. Hermione wrapped her arm around his own after he pulled the covers over them, humming at the comfortable heat of his body against her own.

"I've never been more tempted to run away from my problems as now." He held her closer at the confession. Hermione was not a procrastinator, rather someone who relished meeting challenges full tilt and head on. "Ron, loosing my job, assassination attempts? It's just too much at once. Especially being sacked. Silly thing to be upset about on top of everything going on..."

He chuckled. "Hardly. Maybe getting everyfing bad out of the vay for a few years, yes?"

"I hope so." She let out a long, breath clearing sigh as he rubbed a stockinged foot against her leg before she turned over to bury her face in his chest, breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne. "I keep telling myself that at least one good thing has come out of it already."

"Hmm?" He questioned her quiet and seeming absentminded thought, tangling his legs into her own as sleep tugged on the edge of his consciousness.

"You, of course."

Viktor let out a contented rumble, twisting to kiss her lips gently before finally allowing himself to drift off into blessed unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>A winter breeze bit into Hermione's cloak so doggedly that she felt like it's jaws had taken hold and wrenched all manner of warmth and feeling from her skin permanently. Vrasta's main square was completely open and exposed to the elements, the nearby buildings only serving to create a natural updraft and the intersection of winds carried away any hope of their traditionally loose garments hold on body heat. She reached into her sleeve to surreptitiously cast the warming charm she'd been holding off on. Her fingers stung with pin prickles at the sudden introduction of hospitable temperatures, and she had to bite back a groan of discontent.<p>

And paranoia. Every bit of magic in her was on reserve, had been for the past day. Every last bit counted. She looked out into the crowd, peering into the small sea of faces and wondered who amidst the assembly was there to murder them all. It was bright, sunny and cloudless; it was always the seemingly tranquil days that disturbed her all the more. All it would take was a crack of a wand to break the air and down they all went. She shivered again, leaning into Viktor as he pulled her against his side in response.

His face was a mask of concentration, features schooled into a firm scowl as he surveyed the square, briefly broken as he tilted his head down to take in her own pinched mouth with a placid glance before lazily looking back to nod at the reporters. Flash bulbs burst loudly amongst the crowd as she managed a small smile at his bravery. It was almost time, and it was making her flesh crawl.

Sharks. The lot of them. She _hated_ reporters. Ron had basked in the limelight, jauntily stopping to allow photo ops for the wizarding paparazzi in the streets, making her already beetle-browed discontent at having her picture snapped without her permission that much more difficult to bear. Amongst the local media gathered for the event, she spotted no less than four familiar faces from her homeland, and they were focusing in on her location with less than hidden interest. Rita Skeeter, blessedly, was not amongst them. She'd buried that hatchet long and deep years ago after Harry had drowned her in law suits after the newly registered animagus had attempted one of her famous exposes. Part of the settlement had pertained to Hermione's own feud with the woman, leaving Skeeter little wiggle room with which to harass the female third of the Golden Trio.

She sighed once again. Viktor had refused to tell her what he'd planned on using as a ruse for the fake publicity event, which also weighed on her mind. She'd worried that whatever he'd cooked up would hurt his career, and at least one of them needed to have a job to go back to once the whole fiasco was over. Hermione knew he'd be crushed if anything interfered with his career, all reassurance to the otherwise laid aside, Viktor was in love with the sport and he'd be stung by having to watch his team from the sidelines if untouched by game injuries.

Coach Milanov clapped a hand on Viktor's back, letting him know it was time, as their publicity wizard stood all grins next to him. Their press liaison had almost salivated after being told to arrange the event, as well as the reason ultimately behind it's arrangement. The amount of press it would generate would put him in the black for the next two seasons at minimum. The nearly jubilant wizard gallantly offered a steadying hand behind Hermione's back as he lead them to the abbreviated dais, at which point a steely eyed Viktor sidestepped to take his place, smoothly gliding her along to take a seat next to him at the interview table.

Milanov looked at Viktor, who nodded, before clearing his throat into the old fashioned looking microphone. The crowd beneath them hushed. And then he began to speak. In Bulgarian. Luckily, Viktor had foreseen the tempered irritation that just now flashed across Hermione's face, and nudged a transcript to her. As she read ahead, she fought to keep her mouth from dropping open in shock.

"_It is with both delight and regret that I must announce an extended furlough, as it were, of one of my star players._" He paused, looking out at the journalists, who were now murmuring with barely suppressed questions. "_Rest assured, however, that this will not take place until after the close of this season. I'll allow my seeker to explain himself shortly._"

A couple of the notebook toting men began to shout before being quieted by their fellow reporters, whose glares of anticipation did little to calm the enormous lump in Hermione's throat. She turned to look at Viktor with liquid eyes, swallowing hard at his own expression. She'd seen that look before. Apparently she had underestimated his devious nature. By hook or by crook, her mother would have said. The witch didn't know which emotional tide to chose as they ebbed; anger, amusement and sheer, unabashed astonishment that he'd had the guts to brazenly announce to the world their betrothal. One forged entirely under duress, however much she had now reciprocated his affections.

"_I am very proud to announce that a very..." _Her fingers entwined with his under the table. "_Dear friend of mine has acquiesced to a long standing suit. Miss Granger has done me the great honor of agreeing to join with the house of Krum as my bride._" Shocked exclamations rippled through the crowd, and Hermione's small hand shook as they interlocked fingers. He paused, glancing over to watch as Hermione ran her free hand along the lines he was speaking on the parchment before her, her face calm and collected despite her body language betraying her utter disbelief. "_There have been rumors. I've called you here to set the matter at rights. Allegations to the contrary, we had not been in contact for several years until we had a chance meeting at Hermione's workplace after a match in her home country, at St. Mugo's hospital where Kuzi was being treated at the time. As you may be aware, there is an upcoming trial.._"

And then, mid speech, the first of the many explosions to come detonated the wall behind them. Shrieks rose up from the crowd as they began to scatter amidst the smoke and debris, seeking cover in the shops and behind food stalls. Viktor had grabbed Hermione upon the first whistle of the spell hurtling towards them through the air, throwing her to the floor boards so better to cover her with his own body as another spell rocked the table with a jolt. Milanov, squatting beside them, kicked it over for cover, wand drawn as he surveyed the chaos that began to engulf the small town square. Rolling the piece of aged wood in his hands, he turned to his subordinate.

"Go," he bellowed in English above the panicked yells of the crowd before continuing in Bulgarian. "_I'll cover you, just get her and yourself out of the line of fire._"

Viktor nodded his agreement, and began scanning the rooftops to see how many of their reinforcements remained. The first few blasts not targeting the dais had centered around where their primary guard had been located, leaving their right flank exposed. He counted two of the five aurors stationed there left standing, and one was frantically working triage healing on his felled companions as the other blindly blasted away at the general direction the assault had come from. The earpiece Hermione had pressed on him and the others crackled with interference, leaving them flying blind.

"There!" She was pointing towards Harry, who stood with his wand ready in front of a group of cowering civilians by a conveniently jutting wall, shouting orders to his subordinates like a slightly less maniac Mad Eye Moody. A spell cracked over their heads, showering them in sparks as it collided with a nearby loudspeaker, sending the tall pole careening into the ground in front of them. Milanov cursed loudly, volleying back a barrage of spells that shuddered the ground beneath their feet upon impact.

"_Get moving, boy_," roared Milanov. "_We'll have them yet_."

The faster they moved, the easier it would be to triangulate their attackers location. Obviously, their opponent was not working alone. Keep to the plan was the order of the day, and the plan was to high crawl it to Harry as quickly as possible once the assault began, and their as yet unknown opponents had been happy to oblige. The two targets began their tactical retreat to the defended rear, stopping several times to throw up shields against the incoming curses that began to rain down on them as their attackers realized their movements. Victory shouts in both languages rose above the deafening din of battle.

"Two down! Repeat, two down!"

They were almost there, Harry gesturing for them to hurry as he blasted away while one of his underlings parried the incoming fire with his own, working in unison. Hermione stumbled as they moved to crouch down against an upturned carriage, and Viktor hauled her back out of range as the cobblestone erupted into dust where she'd been exposed. Curls stuck to her forehead, skin slick with perspiration, but fire gleaned out of her hazel orbs as she looked at him, then spun to obliterate the the area where the spell originated.

"_One down, one coming, you motherless dogs!_"

Todo's hoot of triumph rang out across the square, and as Viktor rolled into the shielded bunker, he turned to catch the stocky young brunette blasting away at a darkly dressed man at point blank range. A stunner to the face at that distance was more than lethal, and he let black mirth bleed across his expression at his friends ruthlessness. It appeared Todo hadn't lost his touch to time or inactivity. Harry shouted for another auror covering his side to take his place, carefully pulling back as the other wizard stepped in to continue the offensive.

"We need to close the gaps!" Harry's voice was hoarse for shouting, and Hermione was already busily patching up one of the downed aurors amongst his team.

"Three down on the east corridor, Potter, I know."

"They're using cloaking magic." Hermione had risen, wiping the blood from her hands with a bandage before tossing it to the ground in flames, raising her wand and hands to strengthen their shields as the spell barrage intensified. "Dampers of some kind, I hit one dead on and they absorbed a portion of the impact that should have occurred."

It was too tantalizingly familiar, thought Viktor. Where had he..?

"Like in Edinburgh assault." Yes. That _exactly_. "Golems. They're using golems."

Potter swiped a grubby glove across his forehead, raggedly assessing their options. "Fuck. Those take years to mature to this aptitude. The amount of magic needed to... Who the _fuck_ did you piss off, Krum?"

"I'm trying to find out, _Potter_."

"Well, get back to me on that one, okay mate? Because this just became a little more than I expected."

"If you'd both quit whining for a half second, you'd remember that a freezing hex leaves them vulnerable." Which they'd found out the last time the long, hard and dirty way. Hermione's deadpan reasoning cut through the gloom, and Viktor turned to pin her with an upraised eyebrow.

"I remember this, mila, but do _they?_" He gestured outwardly, towards the chaos of the open square, and her lips pursed at the reprimand.

* * *

><p>The Weasley brothers had been collectively spoiling for a fight, and were more than delighted to deliver upon the first outburst of destruction. Given the task of covering the western end, they were safely entrenched in the entryway of one of the local haberdasheries as they tried to play damage control on the cross-fire. They'd already taken down two men, and were slowly making headway on a third.<p>

"Where ever did they manage to find this many thugs?" Charlie was muttering to himself as he attempted to pin down the location of their own personal sniper. He perked up at catching a flash of movement within a confectionery across the way, zeroing in on the dark cloak as he watched the man duck out of a window to fire off a spell in their direction. "Incoming!" He ducked with the others, nervously twirling his wand in anticipation. "The little blighter's in the sweet shop."

"Is your set getting anything?!" George cringed as a hex disintegrated the stone at his feet, skipping back a step to better cover behind the wall, biding his time before peaking around the corner once again to attack.

"Not a thing! Useless piece of kit, that." Bill ducked out to scatter a few spells indiscriminately, trying to lure out their prey. "Something big to take out that kind of system, I've never heard of it failing since the ministry started to use it."

"I know, it's making me jittery." George shifted in place, eying what should have been a dead target already. "I've got a bad feeling about this, mate. Again."

"You're not the only one." Charlie smirked. "Everything to plan, eh?"

"Not bleeding likely," shot back George. Since when did the Order do_ anything_ that ever went by planning. "Which's actually kind of comforting."

George would find disorder comforting. Charlie shook his head, eyes narrowing, before he stepped out of the cover to snap a stunner at their target dead on, cursing as the dark robed wizard stumbled back behind the blown out window of the street shop.

"Something's off." Bill had a remarkable flare for understatement as much as his brother did for flashy disruptions.

George's mouth had dropped open, wand dangling between his lax fingers in shock."Didja see that? Cor. Seriously, no, did you _see_ that?"

"This might take longer than I originally thought." Charlie grimaced, allowing his pushed down anxiety to notch just a little higher in his throat. He stepped out to take aim once more before quickly stepping back to rub at his eyes. "No. Oh _no_, no no.." He looked again. "_Please_ tell me I'm not seeing what I'm seeing."

"You are." George swore. "Of all the _stupid_.."

Anti-apparition wards up to keep their quarry trapped in, Viktor streaked across the open square at a dead run.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> This came just as hard as the last chapter. It took a long while to figure out how to segway into the thick of things, and then how to let everything climax left me stumped for weeks after three quarters of the chapter was done. I wanted to play around a little bit more with the dynamic between Hermione and Sirius, because he's such a complex character near and dear to me, which was the easy bit. I see him as the less rigid yang "voice of reason" to the more restrained yin of Snape. I do have a basic outline for what's going to happen, but, my stories tend to write themselves, and I flesh things out as I go. Hopefully not foreshadowing too much (though I'm not sure it will even work it's way in since some of my pre-written material doesn't), but I have a feeling that Sirius is going to do something spectacularly stupid later on.

This was difficult to finish for several reasons, one of them being the passing of a fellow writer. Kyria of Delphi, you will be missed. One of my regrets is that I hadn't finished this story for her, and that was hard to climb over in finishing this chapter. I'll very much miss her encouragement.


	25. Chapter 25

Title: This Once

Pairing: Viktor/Hermione

Rating: M (adult content, abuse)

Summary: Could he make her whole again? Maybe just this once. Good things always come at a price, but neither Viktor or Hermione expected their twice found love to be so hard won.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Twenty Five**

"No." He glared at her. She glared back. "Just, no."

"Shut up, Harry," she hissed. "You don't have a choice." Hermione was too busy stretching, limbering up before the coming lull in crossfire in order to make a mad sprint across the courtyard to another outpost, to notice her old friends posturing as he hovered over her menacingly. Harry glowered further at her lack of attention.

"Martyr," he spat back at her complete dismissal.

"Oh, _don't._" She righted herself, poking him in the chest. He grimaced, massaging his abused pectoral as she continued to rant. "Like you _really_ have any room to speak on that end, Mr. Self Sacrifice. If I had a knut for every time you wanted to turn yourself into a human peace offering I'd be several galleons richer."

"Why don't you let me send St. John, Peterson, hell, _I'll_ go. But don't you make me tell him," he pointed in the direction Viktor had bolted, "that I sent you out to play duck and cover. I _value_ my tender bits."

"Harry, we need to draw their fire and the is the plan. Sort of."

"It bloody well isn't." Harry's voice had gone shrill in anticipation as she counted the seconds after a volley of spells.

"I'm killing two birds with one stone. Deal with it." She bolted.

Harry spit out a spell, exploding an overturned cart mid square as a distraction, mentally shrieking at his best friend as he trained his wand on her back as she ran.

* * *

><p>Viktor cursed, pulling away from the huddled aurora as he felt his betrothal band frisson with heat. Poking his head out, he resisted the close his eyes in desperation and fear. He couldn't afford the luxury of giving into having a fit about Hermione, there were too many lives at risk. There wasn't anything to be done except move on to the next outpost, hoping he'd cover them all before she managed to reposition herself.<p>

The volleys of exchanged fire had already started to dwindle as word began to spread through their team about the true nature of their opponents. He hoped that several pearlescent pools of decomposing golems in the square would be self evident, but even the most observant witch or wizard would be distracted by their surroundings in the midst of a firefight. It was easy to get distracted when so fully focused on pinpointing the location of an enemy, however well trained both teams of aurors had proved themselves to be.

The intensity of the fire, so far, had done little to reveal the location of the mastermind behind the attack, so all he could do was to keep moving, hoping that he was making a large enough target of himself to draw out a response vicious enough to pinpoint their target.

Poking his head out, he quickly zeroed in on the areas nearby where they'd been concentrating their fire, taking stock of the remaining wands he'd need to dodge before making it to the other side of the operation. If he could time it right, he'd hit the two remaining outposts without having Hermione expose her position again. It was less than a straight shot, however, so the timing was important for his continued health.

The next post was manned by the Weasley boys, who'd quickly and thoroughly excised the enemy fire in their area after the fighting began, which lead Viktor to believe that his little jaunt would be made in redundancy. Better safe than dead on that note, on the other hand. He waited for the last spell impact after counting out their rhythm, and then bolted.

Debris flew past him as he ran through missed spells, dust flying up on impact from the cobblestones surrounding him. A slicing hex grazed his arm as he darted around an abandoned pram, but he knew that faltering wasn't an option. Feet to pavement, he pushed his body to continue on without a misstep as the storefront grew ever larger in the shortening distance.

He stumbled past Bill, the redhead's wand flitting through the air as he blasted away at the target across the square, before crouching down to squat against the cover of a wall, heaving precious oxygen into his lungs.

"Golems, yeah?" shouted Bill, over the din of incoming fire, and Viktor suppressed the urge to thump his head against the brick wall he'd collapsed against. He outwardly cursed, making Bill's face light up with twisted glee at his frustration. The older mans eyes never left the field, but George hooted, turning to slap Viktor on the back before thrusting a tin of water into his hand. The Bulgarian growled, ripping off the cap before guzzling the liquid down, pouring the rest onto his head.

"Sirius' probably figured it too," bellowed Charlie, as he darted back and forth out of the entryway, sharp eyes scanning for movement in the shop windows where their wands were pointed, purposefully making a target of himself.

"Can't take the chance." Viktor shook his head. There was another group of aurors stationed near Sirius's area, in the same quadrant, and they needed to be informed if Black hadn't done so already.

Hauling himself to his feet, his eyes shot to where Hermione had ran to link up with Harry's auxiliary, seeing that she hadn't yet run to the next post. Her now messy bun was peeking out from behind the edifice of a storefront, shifting back and forth as if to gage when to move on.

He counted the seconds. Breathe in, breathe out. Three, two… he sucked in a steadying gulp of air before launching himself away from the wall with both hands like a skier out of a gate. It had begun to snow, powder floating down from the sky to cover the ground with a slick layer of ice and slush. He skidded as he ran, sliding to a stop past a snickering Sirius.

"Wasted effort, son."

Viktor righted himself, stomping the slop of his boots with a snarl.

"Told the aurors, da?"

Sirius tossed his head to the empty spot behind him, and only then did Viktor notice the lack of aurory detail in the Marauder's bolthole.

"Sent one of Harry's boys to spread the word."

Both men half ducked as a massive explosion rocked the foundation of the building, and then Viktor whipped around to survey the damage, glancing through a punched out window.

He pulled at his hair, moaning as he saw the point of impact.

* * *

><p>Debris hailed down on them as all three wizards crouched low to the ground for cover, huddled in a corner. Both Hermione and Todo had had the sense to cast a Bubblehead Charm before the impact, but the other two aurors behind them hacked and choked on the smokescreen created by the Bombarda Maxima that had collided with the outer wall of the storefront in which they were sheltered. One man choked out a spell, swirling his wrist to clear the air before hastily checking to see if the damage had affected any load bearing walls, sighing as he found their location to be structurally sound. The gaping hole in their frontal cover wasn't ideal, however. Todo dispelled his Bubblehead as Hermione did, both glancing at one another in half panic as they assessed the now marginal space with which they had to use for protection.<p>

"I think is time to move next house." Todo pointed to his left, a less solid storefront, but for the time being, a much more desirable defensive position.

"Da," was Hermione's droll remark. This was going to be a tricky maneuver. All of a sudden her earpiece flared to life, the sudden crackling within her eardrum startling her so badly that she nearly smacked herself in the head on reflex. Todo let out a yell, his two subordinates echoing him, before cursing wildly, glaring at Hermione all the while. The headsets had been her idea in the first place. Harry's voice blared to life over the intercom.

"Hermione?!"

"Team Leader One, I'm with Team Leader Three. Requesting cover fire for transport of personnel to a new location." _Use your combat speak, you berk._ Hermione inwardly rolled her eyes at his lack of composure. _Boys_.

"Starboard or Port?" They'd figured that boating terminology would be tricky enough in case the lines were tapped. Muggleisms were a convenient throwback in case of listening ears whenever Harry dealt with pureblood fanatics.

"Starboard."

"Roger that." Harry's voice continued for a moment, somewhat muffled, as he spoke to his own team quickly as he concocted a plan, before speaking a full volume as he regained command. "Be aware that you're facing Golems; threat neutralized by freezing. Team Leaders, weigh in." One by one all the quadrants called in by sign, and then they knew that whatever spell had been used to block their radios had been dispelled. Thankfully. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "Alright then. I need Teams Two and Four to lay down fire on my count, Team Three get ready to move." Todo, Hermione and the two aurors crouched low to the wall, inching their way forward into the exposed zone of the crumpled masonry that had once provided cover. "Teams One and Five target incoming fire. On my count.. Three.. Two.. One… FIRE."

Explosions rocked the square, dust clouding the already snow filled air, and then Todo thumped Hermione on the shoulder letting her know it was time to move. With tactical precision, the team moved with stealth and speed along the outer wall and into the storefront to the right of their original position.

"We're in!" Hermione panted with the aftereffects of an adrenaline rush, listening to the empty mayhem echoing outside the still open door.

Harry's voice crackled over the set once more. "Cease fire!" All fell silent in the square, and Hermione leaned out the doorway of what they now saw to be a printers with foreboding lodged in her gut. It was too still. She turned to Todo, wand clenched in one hand, who in turn merely shrugged.

"What the hell do we do now?!" George's off the cuff remark over the comm hit home. What _did_ they do now? They'd expected their quarry to have charged into battle, half cocked, by this time. Dark wizards were typically fond of overly dramatic gestures, but this time they'd been let down in their anticipation.

"Team Leader Three. Stay vhere you are." Viktor's guttural order snapped over the intercom, leaving Hermione scrambling for a window, well aware of what would come next. This was what she'd been dreading. Her wrist stung, the pricking heat radiating from the goblin silver encircling her wrist intensified as she watched helplessly as Viktor appeared in the doorway near Sirius's post, obviously readying himself to bait the enemy.

* * *

><p>The silence was now deafening, the wind whistling through now crumbling structures with eerie clarity. Snow had begun to fall more heavily from the thick cover of clouds now blotting out the sun, enveloping the visibility across the square in fog as it melted against the still warm flagstones.<p>

"Plan B," muttered Viktor across the intercom, and several voices crackled back in affirmative. Sirius, crouched next to him by an open window, cracked his knuckles before letting his wand dangle between two fingers.

They both startled as Tocopher St. John climbed through a hole in the wall behind them, having taken alternate means to link up with the other team a few door down. Viktor lifted an eyebrow before realizing that he'd forgotten the lad was the team medic, and so he must have been scurrying around between outposts for triage purposes.

Tocopher dusted off his trousers before jauntily saluting Viktor with a filthy hand. He looked as if he'd taken a skid into a puddle, then rolled around for good measure. Sirius covered up a laugh with a sharp cough, at which Tocopher rolled his eyes. Viktor huffed at Sirius's distain; the boy must have been trench crawling his way between buildings.

"Moving on," interjected Sirius, shaking his head.

Viktor hesitated, before approaching the question he'd had on the tip of his tongue since realizing what Tocopher had been tasked with during the operation. "Have there been any casualties?"

"No. One of Todo's took a nasty cut to his femoral artery, that was a close bit of work, but nothing I couldn't fix. Thankfully I was there when he was hit." He shrugged, as if brushing off what could have happened if he hadn't have been with the team when the injury had occurred.

Then it was Viktor turn to shake his head, before moving to stare out the door, and he felt the sweat on his back cooling as he listened for movement. Nothing. There remained the possibility that the culprit had already been eradicated, but as most of the veterans among them knew, they couldn't let their guard down until the square had been entirely and thorough searched. Sniper fire raining down after someone had declared the all clear wasn't an acceptable risk.

'Plan B' was to make a gigantic target of himself if they hadn't yet ascertained the whereabouts of the mastermind behind the attack. Meaning a slow and luxurious jaunt across the square without any cover fire. His feet felt like bricks, ice crawling into his chest as he contemplated the probability that he'd be blown to smithereens within the first ten seconds. Sirius shuffling behind him brought his thoughts back to attention.

"I'm ready." He breathed in deeply through his nose, watching his breath crystalize in the air as he exhaled sharply through his mouth.

"Alright." Harry's voice was coaxing. Of all people, at the very least, Harry Potter knew what this would feel like. "Whenever you're good, just go."

His boots crunched as he stepped out into the fresh snow, wand clutched in his hand in front of him, and hoped that he'd be proven wrong in his pessimism.

* * *

><p>"Oh my God. I can't believe I agreed to this," Hermione moaned in a harsh whisper. She watched, one hand covering her mouth, the other with her wand outstretched and ready, in horror as Viktor began shuffling into the square with little but a shielding spell to protect his continued existence. "This is insanity."<p>

Todo snorted, before muttering back a retort. "Brilliant. No vone vould expect."

Hermione scowled, never taking her eyes off of the square. "No one would expect it because it's absolutely mad, that's why."

The Bulgarian auror shrugged, before pinning her with a sharp smile. "You do not trust yourself?"

"With this? No. I don't care how many awful situations I've been in or however much training I might have, I'll never completely trust myself with someone else's life in my hands." Her hands were white as she gripped her wand waiting for the slightest sign of trouble.

"Good. Means that you are not stupid like him yet."

Hermione snorted. Todo moved to stand next to her, his own wand outstretched. Both of them watched through the ever dimming light as Viktor began to make his way further into the square, his dark head turning as he scanned the seemingly vacant buildings. Two teams of aurors had been tasked with the evacuation of noncombatants, and it seemed that they'd done their job well. The square was devoid of human life, and Viktor was left to pick his way around the scattered belongings of reporters and patrons alike. Hermione cringed as he kicked a camera out of the way, the metal grinding harshly against the stones even through the snow. The anticipation was killing her.

Still, nothing. They were keeping radio silence so that no one would be distracted, Viktor or otherwise, by side chatter. Hermione drew a deep breath, holding it as she listened intently for the telltale whoosh of a spell thrown while looking for any semblance of light that would precede a perhaps fatal bombardment. The fact that the entire operation was her idea in the first place weighed heavily on her shoulders.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she watched him stumble, his foot catching on something in the road. He was close enough that she could see the color of the unsticking charm he aimed at his boot, and the panic in his movements when the spell failed and he remained stuck. The second he reached down to pry his foot loose and leave his footwear behind, out sprung a cargo net of magic, entangling him where he remained.

Hermione jammed the transmission button on her earpiece. "Team Three, deploying." Todo shook his head, and Hermione dug her fists tighter into her coat in distress.

"Stand your ground!" Came the shout from Viktor, huffing over the comm as he struggled against the rope with a slashing hex.

Her fingers itched for the spells she was holding back, Harry's voice chiming in to agree with Viktor's call. "Just do it already!" She growled back, and in that instant, he disappeared.

Nothing was left, not his boot or a trace of magic, except for swath of snow on the ground that was swept up by his struggle. Dimly, she could hear blood surging in her ears as she fought to keep herself from dropping to her knees, disbelieving as she stared at the empty space where he had stood. Instead, she sagged against the wall, legless. Numbness set in. "Why didn't he apparate?" Her voice, strangled and shaking, was barely a whisper.

Todo's fists were clenched as he stared at the now empty square. "Must haff been illegal portkey.. He vould haff spliched." He shook his head. Any number of things could have prevented their so-called failsafe from not working as intended.

Her wand shook as she waited, in vain, for him to appear.

"Then why hasn't he apparated to me now?" It didn't bear thinking. She _couldn't _think about such a thing.

Todo just looked at her.

Terror welled at an unholy rate until she decided to take the one option left to her. She'd considered this as an outcome, and really, there was only one thing left to do. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on her betrothal band until she could feel the primeval string that attached her soul to Viktor's, feeling her way to where he was. It was an intangible place, completely unlike her envisioning during a usual apparition, but she could feel _him_ and that was her anchor. Distantly, she could hear Todo's s stuttered warning, and Harry's shout of dismay across the radio, but it was all filtered out by necessity as she blinked away to an unknown destination.

No matter the danger to herself, no matter that it was probably a sprung trap or however mad Viktor might be, two was better odds than one.

* * *

><p>Harry roared, kicking the door, already half off its hinges, onto the snowy ground. Breathing deeply, he rested his forehead against the molding where it had hung. He punched his headset back on.<p>

"Someone get me a tracker." His voice was hoarse, bottoming out with emotion. He took a moment to collect himself, frantically running down the possible avenues to find where the portkey could have been keyed to. Then, shaking him back to his senses, his wand buzzed in his hand. Tapping it against the cracked wood, he cursed loudly, startling the two aurors behind him. "Morrisey! You come with me. Todo! Take over while I go take care of this." Todo radioed his affirmative, as Harry tried to pull together his scattered rational.

"Sir!" Steven Morrisey, one of his tacticians that was grouped with his team, sidled up, shifting uneasily as he tried to glance at the report that floated midair above his superiors shaking wand. Harry was still cursing under his breath, making the other wizard even more apprehensive. He could hear Todo's voice over the headset, speaking in clipped snippets of Bulgarian and English, ordering groups to clear the buildings. They all knew, whatever had happened or would have happened, the square was now empty. But that wasn't the point. They now needed to glean any evidence left over that might lead them to their targets.

"Morrisey," snapped Harry, bringing the older wizard back to attention. "We've been pulled back to headquarters. It can't be helped. But I'd like a steady pair of hands." Harry tried to smile, lightening the situation, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Yes sir," stuttered Morrisey, unsure of how to respond.

"Let's get this over with," muttered Harry, turning to face the now dimming sunlight before he apparated away with a crack, Morrisey following suit

* * *

><p>"What the hell are you doing here?"<p>

He looked stunned as Harry walked into his own office, which was an oddity enough. The man's moonlight skin faded even further, grey eyes slanting as his face became pointed with frustration.

"_Malfoy?"_ Harry's voice was steeped in anger and shock. "What am _I_ doing here? You orchestrated me being dragged here off of an important operation. What are _you_ doing here?" At the last, suspicion finally interlaced with the Molotov cocktail of emotions Harry's entire body projected as he slammed the door behind Morrisey, moving to sit behind his desk so better to emphasize Draco's position as he sat in a rickety visitors chair.

"You're supposed to have been… I didn't ask for you specifically," spat Draco. "I was told to come to this office by my handler if necessary, and all I had was your title to go off of. Never mind the pissing contest, where the hell is Granger?"

Harry's stomach churned. "She's unavailable. And what the hell do you mean, handler?"

Draco lurched up from the chair, slamming a fist down on it's paper covered top with a bang. Morriesy – still hovering by the door – jumped with alarm, drawing his wand. Harry barely stirred, merely narrowing his eyes in suspicious irritation at his former school nemesis.

"Yes or no, is Granger accounted for?" Malfoy dug around in his robe as he spoke, making Harry twitch to pull his own wand.

"I bloody well can't tell you-" Harry began to rumble, before Draco interrupted by slapping a file on his desk with agitation, a familiar looking identification form directly on top.

"I have a security clearance just as high as yours, so cut the shite."

Harry, stunned, scanned the profile given to him with nerveless fingers. It had never occurred to him that the son of Lucius Malfoy would have anything to do with pro-ministry espionage.

"Not that it's any of your business, but we had complications with a mission-"

"That's a no." Draco raked shaking fingers through his white blond hair. "You were supposed to be _there_, you _useless_ pillock. How could you cock up a bloody rural town square-"

Harry pulled his wand, throwing all caution to the wind as Morrisey shifted to pull Draco back into his seat by a shoulder. At which point Draco raised his hands, theatrically showing his lack of a wand, before pointing at Harry with a long finger, fury leeching into his every pore.

"You were supposed to be watching over her! You were supposed to keep her _safe._"

The entire situation was bizarre. Harry growled, standing to lean over his desk to grab the front of Draco's robes, green eyes flashing as the accusation hit home.

"You're going to tell me everything you know about this, and you're going to do it now. You have ten seconds to start talking without getting sidetracked, or I swear I'll take you apart right here, right now. Ministry be damned."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>

This one is a long time coming. Lots of IRL issues. A friend passed away, work issues.. I also met someone that I'm now in a serious relationship with on a good note. So you'll have to bear with me and my now horrible turn around time for updating. I'm taking nearly a full course load and I'm working full time this semester as well, so, it's going to be a rough one. I have a couple of weeks left before I start classes, so, I'm putting on my writers cap to try and buckle down for at least one chapter here and starting the next.

This one has been HARD to write, too. I'm a lot less motivated when writing action sequences. It's more technical and I end up taking a lot of extra time to think everything through so that things are consistent. I despise continuity errors. I reread through and found a major one previously, so now I'm gun shy. I've also completely re-edited this entire work several times by now for grammar errors and to rework awkward sentence structure, so I've been working on that at the same time as writing this chapter. So far I think I've polished it up to where I want it to be. I had a hard time with capitalization in/after dialogue, since I've never been formally trained with that type of grammar, so I had go through every point of dialogue to check if I'd done it right (it took HOURS).

Why is it that I get writers block when I'm happy with my life situation? I really think there is something to the crazed, starving artist theory.. I shouldn't be complaining about this one.


	26. Chapter 26

Title: This Once

Pairing: Viktor/Hermione

Rating: M (adult content, abuse)

Summary: Could he make her whole again? Maybe just this once. Good things always come at a price, but neither Viktor or Hermione expected their twice found love to be so hard won.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the innumerable characters and content therein. I am making no profit from this jumble of words.

**This Once: Chapter Twenty Six**

Draco jerked his shoulder out of Morrisey's grip before theatrically brushing off the collar of his abused robe, glaring at Harry balefully.

"It's simple, scarhead."

Harry rolled his eyes at the throwback of an insult, twirling his wand in one hand in distraction as he attempted to reign in his baser instincts to hex what remained of the Malfoy line.

"I've been working on infiltrating several international… groups." Draco's undertone implied everything Harry needed to know about the affiliations of the targeted organizations; Death Eaters and pure blood ideology was still as prevalent in wizarding society as it had been before the war; they just weren't socially acceptable social and political views any longer. "Playing both fields, if you want to muggle-ize it."

Harry snorted at the quip, eyebrow upraised at Draco's attempt at humor. "And one of them has Bulgarian ties?" he hedged, pushing for a link between the current situation and Draco's obvious subterfuge.

"Exactly," Draco's eyes never left Harry's, pegging him with a solemn stare that left no doubt as to his loyalties and intentions.

Morrisey backed off, stowing his wand to hunker down onto the other corner of Harry's desk, grabbing spare parchment and a quill to take notes as the two men bickered.

"Someone was buying up a substantial amount of dark artifacts, _a lot of them_; enough to be suspect even in our circles. And I know the people who move that kind of thing." Draco floundered on the wording, placing himself in the same category as the same men that he was trying to put out of business, but it was a matter of fact. He hands were just as dirty as the rest of them. He shifted in his chair, ill at ease with the thought.

Harry steepled his hands, staring rather skeptically at the other man's obvious discomfort. "I thought you were in the process of retracting Malfoy Corporations from such business dealings, that you'd severed old ties."

"Yes and no; I have been restructuring. But I kept in contact with a lot of my old man's friends. Purposefully." There was something like a glimmer of maniac glee in his otherwise closed off expression. "I wanted to pull them down from the inside out. Not everyone got rounded up after the ministry tightened its leash." The most active Death Eaters had fallen with their master, but many of his agents were financial supporters, people who had contributed to the cause without actually participating in the power grab that had ultimately lead to Voldermort's downfall. They had operated under the radar enough that they couldn't be legally implicated as having been active aggressors in what had amounted to genocide.

"Are you trying to convince me that you're suddenly a muggle-lover?" Harry scoffed as Draco flinched at his accusatory tone, his already pale knuckles whitening in their grip on the flimsy arms of his visitor's chair. Harry continued on, unmoved. "That you've completely thrown away everything that your family suffered and died for?"

"Not necessarily, no." Here Draco tilted his chin up, defiantly. "Muggleborns push to eradicate long-held traditions, just because they don't understand them. It's slowly eroding our culture. _That_ I haven't stopped believing. Now I just understand their reasoning and lack of… Granger called it acculturation." Hermione had lectured him on the subject often enough. "But I'm not here to defend myself to you, Potter," he sneered.

Harry shook his head. "What do you know about the buyer?"

Draco noticed the downshift in suspicion, twitching a little at the abrupt immediacy of the other mans acceptance of his own honesty. "I've been tracking his movements through a couple of suppliers I know on the Eastern front. He was trading in massive amounts of obscure potions ingredients that are known to be used in less-than-legal brews. It was suspicious."

Realization flashed across Harry's face. "You're the Quick-Quill informant."

Draco nodded, his expression pinched, before he replied dryly, "Well spotted."

"Why the hell didn't you just volunteer this information in the first place?" bit back Harry, in frustration.

"My hands were tied," snarled back Draco. "I couldn't break silence without putting my entire operation at stake." He leaned forward, hands digging into his trousers as he clutched at the fabric there, restlessly. "Technically I'm still taking a huge risk by being here at all. I had to make it look like I was being arrested just to get into the building."

"I'm sure the Prophet is going to eat that up," muttered Harry.

"You think?" snapped Draco, his head filled with the amount of lost revenue and possible social repercussions.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You couldn't have notified me _sooner_, then?"

"I didn't have any specific information to give you, half-whit." Draco was locked in a desperate mental battle to keep from throttling the auror, "I told you, my hands were _tied_."

* * *

><p>Viktor knelt, arms wrenched behind painfully behind him. He was roped down by magic and held in place by a golem, but that was the least of his current concerns. Utter disbelief sat like a rock in his gut as he stared at a dead body. Or, what should have been a dead body. He quickly collected himself from the brief mental fugue that had taken hold as he heard Hermione audibly groan from across the room. He saw that she was groggily attempting to push herself upright as she emerged from unconsciousness, which was a good sign given the force of the impact her head had received after having been stunned at a rather close distance. Somewhat relieved, he turned his attention back to the man who had seemingly risen from the dead.<p>

"Poliakoff?" he gruffly posited. "Serge Poliakoff?"

The man sneered, contorting the mass of scars that crisscrossed his face. Viktor dimly remembered pulling him out of a ministry raid, the other man having taken a spell blast to the head at close range. The surviving members of his group had collected the bodies from the skirmish later, after the aurors had left the building they'd been occupying, and Viktor had only given himself a few minutes with which to dispose of his former-friend's corpse on a makeshift funeral pyre in the middle of some godforsaken field. Or, so he'd thought.

"_How did you…?_" He began hesitantly, in Bulgarian.

Poliakoff had once been an aid to Headmaster Karkaroff, and while the man had treated both of them abominably, as his aid Poliakoff had been much better at hiding his disgust for the man. The older student had truly been a good ally to have within Karkaroff's ranks, but beyond that he was the closest thing to a best friend he'd ever had. Viktor was a loner by nature, but they had been childhood friends, and the other boy had taken several beatings meant for him over their years at Durmstrang. He'd shown unfailing loyalty to his close friends. Although other other boy had sided with the Death Eaters and had played a minor part in the war, they'd all been treading a thin line in those days; it had been an expected outcome given their education.

Poliakoff let a grin slip onto his face. "_Like I should tell you?_" He spat onto the ground in derision. "_I owe you nothing_."

Viktor wracked his brain for a reason, but could think of nothing substantial enough to warrant the effort his former friend had put into his attempted revenge, other than his obvious betrayal of their cause. But Poliakoff hadn't been as invested as most of the wizards in the Death Eater cell in which he'd immersed himself, and Viktor had had nothing personally to do with the events that had lead up to his friends 'death'.

Viktor frowned. "_At least tell me why-_"

"_Why should I give you the pleasure?_"

Poliakoff motioned to a golem, who moved to tie up Hermione, magically restraining her arms after tossing away her wand. Viktor had been stripped of his after being blindsided by a stunner upon arrival, Hermione receiving much the same treatment.

"_Without a reason, you're just a senseless lunatic_," snarled back Viktor, jerking his arms against the dead weight of the golem's restraining hold. The only response made by the creature was to increase it's already bruising grip.

"_You want to know why?_" The smile was gone, replaced by a slow-building rage as Poliakoff crouched down in front of him, leering menacingly into Viktor's face. His old friend's already sharp Slavic countenance had become even more angular in emaciation, as if the man hadn't remembered that nourishment was still required for his continued existence. He grabbed a hold of Viktor's chin with one hand, wrenching the other mans face to focus directly on his as he ground his wand-tip into a cheek with the other. "_You need a reason? Traitor?_"

Poliakoff shook with fury, deep heaving breaths that wracked his slight frame, and Viktor could almost smell the tainted magic rolling off of his body. Viktor felt malignant, quivering disgust within his own soul as it recoiled from the darkness within the other wizard's husk of a body. Shrouded in black robes, his previously curly hair was matted to his head in disarray, and his once meticulously manicured beard was a mess of stubble and bare edges of scar tissue that poked through the overgrown bristle on his chin.

"_You would do all of this to me just because I broke rank?_" Viktor sneered, raising an eyebrow as he fought to keep from flinching as Poliakoff jabbed his wand further into his cheekbone. "_Surely you realize that being bitten in a den of snakes-_"

"_That I could have forgiven,_" interrupted Poliakoff. The light had dimmed in his eyes, and he dropped his hands from their grip on Viktor's face. He stood to walk way into a natural alcove within the rock face, arms locked behind his back as he fell into the habitual parade rest that Durmstrang had drilled into all of them from childhood. The action was so familiar, so reminiscent of their school days, that it made Viktor's jaw clench.

* * *

><p>"Well, what's changed now?" challenged Harry, livid. "You're giving me information that would have been useful hours ago, you know, before we'd gotten the piss taken."<p>

Draco's hands gripped his biceps as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Because I know where they might be, Saint Potter," he spat, voice deathly flat in its seriousness. "I owe Granger a debt. One I damn well intend to repay, no matter what hell my handler might rain down on me for going against orders."

"Who's your handler?" Harry had mirrored his body language, arms crossed and back ramrod straight as he attempted to stay civil.

Draco snorted. "Snape, who better?"

Harry simply stared at him in disbelief.

"The connection is familial, it's only proper that I maintain contact with the man regularly, and if anyone has the knowledge…"

"That's so transparent it's ridiculous," muttered Harry, unbelieving.

"Exactly." Draco rolled his eyes. "Who would believe any of it at all? The best way to keep anything hidden is within plain sight."

Harry threw up his hands in disgust. "Just tell me the location."

"You're the one badgering me for details, daywalker," pointed out Draco, with one pointed finger outstretched.

Zombie references were at least a new genre of insults to add to the pejoratives thrown at him daily from detainees. "Yes, well, out with it," gritted back Harry, between clenched teeth.

"One of the deliveries was made to an abandoned manor in Pernik, there's an enormous cave system nearby. Muggles used to use them for religious ceremonies, but we-" he backtracked, still obviously uncomfortable with placing himself in the same category, "-Death Eaters would use them for revels, because they're so uncharted."

Harry nodded. It sounded like a plausible location. "Who should we be expecting?"

"One of Viktor's old littermates with a massive grudge."

* * *

><p>"<em>Then why?<em>"

Viktor turned to look at Hermione as she slowly pulled herself off the ground, struggling to rise to her knees with her arms now magically bound to her sides. She was laboring for breath, and something inside Viktor snapped at the sight, knowing that she was still recovering from being poisoned - At the hands of the man in front of him. Viktor grit his teeth, lips thinning into a stern line as he fixed his sight back onto Poliakoff's own eyes icily as the other man gazed intently at the witch's struggle.

"_This one…_" Poliakoff let his voice trail off, stopping as he moved to haul the witch up by her throat. Viktor let out a low growl, snapping his body forward against his restraints as the other man caressed her face, smoothing curls out of her vision as Hermione glared at him, defiantly. "_It's all because of her, isn't it?_" He squeezed her throat, long fingers pinching into her cheeks as she tried to wrench her face away, flinchingly. "_Isn't it?_" he snarled, leaning his face so close to her own that Hermione couldn't help but close her eyes as he exhaled sharply, his wet breath rank against her skin.

"_Leave her out of this,_" barked Viktor, struggling against his restraints with more vigor.

Poliakoff's face blanked, eyes vacant for a half moment before turning to focus his pinched features on Viktor, hand steady at Hermione's throat despite her frantic gasps for air. "_No…_" he scowled, dropping Hermione to the ground with a look of disgust., before turning to glare hatefully at Viktor. "_It's your fault she died._"

His mind was racing. Viktor's entire body shuddered with the sudden chill that ran through his body. "_You-_" Viktor choked out in a half whisper. It was the only explanation, and the pictures flooding his brain were so brilliantly clear that the world blurred and his vision swam. "_You were?_" The letters. The exchanges that he'd written off as his baby sister's ease of affection towards his much old friend. The holes in his wards, and the telling use of wintergreen… "_Ivanka-"_

"_Don't you speak her name," _shouted Poliakoff as he cut Viktor off with a boot to his chest. Viktor sputtered as his own breath was cut short by the impact, heaving air into his lungs in gasps. Hermione let out a small noise of distress, and the quidditch player struggled to quickly regain his composure. Polikoff hissed tremblingly, incensed with the other man's bravado, his voice going unsteady with emotion. _"You haven't the right_."

They'd been childhood friends even before Durmstrang, as Poliakoff's family had been on equal social standing with the Krum's in the small, tight-knit world of the Bulgarian wizarding community. The other boy had often visited Chinik Kushtichka during the summer months. Ivanka had trailed after them both as only a younger sibling could, wanting to be a party to every game and adventure. And, loving his sister, Viktor had often indulged her. The three had spent many happy days together in play, until propriety had deemed the mixing of company less than acceptable. Poliakoff had begun to dote on her over the years as well, and the other boy had made it a point to never draw attention to the obvious infatuation with himself that Ivanka had nurtured into her more mature years. They'd had an unspoken gentlemen's understanding; family members, especially much younger siblings, were romantically off-limits.

Or so he had thought. As time went on and Ivanka had pursued other wizards, Viktor had assumed that she had moved on past the childhood crush she's had on his best friend. Viktor had known that his sister had been writing to a young beau in those last months of her life, but he'd never found out the identity of what he'd assumed was a fleeting romance. After her death, he'd been unable to find any letters that she'd kept, and over the years his mother hadn't located them either.

And he had looked again, recently, knowing that there was a chance that they were the missing link to the recent attacks. He'd assumed that Ivanka had charmed her letters to self-destruct if anyone went snooping through her things, a common tactic with witches her age, as he couldn't find a trace of any correspondence among her things. After her death they'd sealed the door to her wing of the family quarters, and tried desperately to move on. It had been a traumatic experience to pull down the wards on those rooms in order to go looking for clues, however much time might have passed. He'd tried very hard to put her death behind him.

Apparently, her lover had not. His closest friend, who he had watched burn into ash, all those years ago, or so he'd thought. An odd sort of indignation swelled within his chest even as he caught his breath. It was unbelievable that his sister had kept such a secret from him, from any of his family, so well.

"_You,_" Viktor began, coughing as the words stuck in his throat. "_You, and_ her?"

Poliakoff's face went red in indignation, even under the mottled disfiguration that stretched across his cheeks. "_It was your betrayal that put her in the grave my friend,_" he spat, fiddling with his wand and tightening the restraints that bound Viktor's legs. "_I loved her._" It was a solemn statement, and Viktor didn't doubt the other man's sincerity. Poliakoff's knuckles were white as he gripped his wand, something twisted and vicious forming on his once handsome mouth. "_And you traded her life for nothing more than muggle trash._"

"_Kill me then."_ Viktor's heart felt leaden as he contemplated the possibilities. "_Take your vengeance, long past due_."

Ivanka's favorite sweet had been mint-cauldrons, decadent chocolate covered wintergreen mints. She'd received a whole box of them at Christmas every year past her sixteenth birthday, when she was of legal age for engagement. That he'd never suspected anything between the two, despite his nearly consuming paranoia, was a damning oversight on his part. He's assumed that the mints had been a gift from his parents or a relative, none the wiser. They had been indulged as children. They weren't something that would have been out of the ordinary for Ivanka to have received as a casual gift.

A cruel smile emerged from the parade of emotions the crossed Poliakoff's face, and Viktor felt his stomach drop with knowing anticipation.

* * *

><p>They were all huddled up inside an intact building, watching an auror fiddle with some type of advanced tracking device that made a Foe Glass look like a child's toy. The tracker was obviously attempting some sort of triangulation technique, but George knew better than most – a fact that had surprised both his brothers. It would take more than a few minutes of fiddling to track down wherever Hermione and Viktor had been whisked off to. The former twin had continued working with the ministry after the war, well beyond producing his line of shield helmets and other gear. He'd offered his expertise in the way helping to develop new technological advancements in aurory field equipment, and tracker's tools were just one of the many things he'd stuck his ginger head into helping the ministry to tweak.<p>

"This is doing my head in." George groaned, grinding the heel of his hand into an eye in frustration.

"Budge up." Charlie shoved a tin cup of tea into George's unoccupied hand, sitting down next to him on the wood floorboards. They had been prohibited from transfiguring anything more comfortable. Apparently the ministry took a dim view on any further collateral damage their operation might incur for the time being, at least pertaining to their current location.

"Thanks." George tipped back the tea with little thought, before sputtering, spilling down his front. The drink had been piping hot. "A little warning might have been nice."

"I'll remember to check your nappy next time, alright?" drawled Charlie, eyebrow raised.

Sirius growled at the both of them. "Children. Please." He ran a hand through his hair, pacing, before stopping to glare at the tracker full force. The other man simply shuffled in place, uncomfortable with the Marauder's intimidation tactics. Sirius's eyes bore into him like hot coal, and did less to motivate him to work quicker as much as they made the poor man's already nerve shot hands feel even more ham-fisted.

"When the hell is Harry getting back?" queried Bill, trying to pull Sirius's attention away from distracting the tracker.

"How about just now," exclaimed Harry, tiredly, from the threshold of the shop's door.

"Well." George could only blink, setting down his cup. "That was convenient."

"Nice entrance. Now, could you possibly move your arse out of the way," snapped Malfoy, and Harry quickly stepped forward to make room for him inside to doorway.

George gaped. "You again?"

"I don't have the time to explain, so, would you all just trust me on this, please?" Harry pleaded with both his eyes and his open handed gesture for forgiveness as Sirius stared, skeptically, at the Malfoy heir.

Draco scoffed, "Like you have any place to talk, Potter. I wasted ten minutes trying to convince you that I wasn't bloody terrorist."

Bill couldn't stop himself from laughing as Harry shot daggers at the blond for his less than helpful remark. "Easy now, lad." The werewolf crossed his arms, leaning against a wall in bemusement. "Or you might fit right in with this lot."

"Look, Malfoy's been working with the ministry, and he has a lead as to where Hermione and Viktor might be." The whole room seemed to snap to attention, and even the tracker stopped working to turn around and give Harry both ears in anticipation.

Malfoy cleared his throat, jittery at the attention. "I have good reason to believe that they might be somewhere in the Duhlata cave system in Pernik. In Pernik, Bulgaria, I mean." He gestured to Harry to continue.

"And I'm in a good position to agree with him." He pushed his glasses further up on his nose by the bridge, surveying the men gathered in the room with a sharp eye, quelling any dissent. Harry nodded to the tracker, who'd begun to frantically fiddle with his instruments, "Right. So, I'll keep in touch with you. Let me know when you have a better idea of an exact location," The other man's response was an absent nod, and Harry then turned back to nod at the rest of the men, who stood at rapt attention. "We're off to Pernik. I've already arranged a portkey."

"No plan?" hedged Bill.

"Is it really worth the effort?" Harry was already out the door, tossing the remark over his shoulder, and the rest of the group began to file out after him.

George shrugged. "Good point, really."

* * *

><p>"<em>Then what do you plan to do with us?<em>" demanded Viktor.

Poliakoff laughed, duly. "_You think I'm that stupid?_" He turned, facing Hermione, who was by now taking in the situation with wide eyes, fully awake but obviously unaware of what had passed between the two men due to the language barrier. The disfigured wizard motioned to a golem who moved to pick up Hermione by her bound arms.

"My apologies, Mrs. Krum, if I don't better introduce myselve."

Hermione's eyes were narrowed in confusion at the lack of mockery in the address, as if it was actually her title.

"Oh-ho, he did not tell you?"

Hermione simply pursed her lips, refusing to deign their captor with the satisfaction of giving his obviously ill intentioned question a response.

Viktor struggled furiously against his restraints as Poliakoff gently took Hermione's chin, tilting it so he could peruse her eyes with a maniacal grin.

"Oh my, Viktor, you did not tell her, _da_?" Poliakoff cackled at Viktor's hateful glare. "You are his vife."

Hermione simply tilted her chin up, glaring balefully into the madman's face, but he merely continued on, eyes now fixated on the pained expression beginning to grow on Viktor's face.

"He took you to bed vhile vearing thees," he plucked at her betrothal band, reaching behind her in mockery of an embrace. "Means you are hees sŭpruga. But he didn't expect to lieve long, did you Viktor?" Poliakoff sneered at Viktor, twisting the band harshly against Hermione's skin before pulling back to stare at her, hatred burning in his eyes. "He thought I vould make you hees vidow in due time, da, moyat priyatel?" Poliakoff hatefully wound his fingers into the witch's hair, stopping her from hiding her shell-shocked expression behind the curls as she began to tilt her chin down towards floor. "Ve can't haff _you_ as Madam Krum, now can ve? Take her avay."

"Vhere are you taking her?" Viktor shouted, struggling even harder than before. "Leaf her be!"

Poliakoff laughed, this time with a more maniacal tinge to the sound than his previous lack of mirth. "This is vhere I reveal all? I think no. Take her avay."

Viktor's breath caught and he felt like his chest was going to collapse in on itself as he watched tears of frustration and anger gather in her eyes. She struggled against the golem, angling her body so that she could speak to him as the creature dragged her away down the stone corridor.

"I love you. I love you, Viktor," she choked out.

"_Her__mione._" Low and pained, Viktor couldn't stop himself from allowing the uncertainty of the moment cloud his reaction, but when he saw Poliakoff sneering out of the corner of his eye, he quickly rallied. He wasn't going to let the situation dictate his response, and he'd be damned if he minced what could possibly be his last words to her. "I love you. I have always loved you. No matter vhat happens, _I vill find you. __**I vill find you.**_"

Another golem grabbed ahold of her other shoulder, helping the first creature as Hermione stuck in as well as she could, struggling to keep from being separated from the man who up until that second she hadn't even known was her husband.

"You bastard!" she couldn't help but half shout, half sob at Poliakoff. "You haven't even said why you're doing this! Who are you? _Why?_"

The golem's drug her away, painfully wrenching her arms high behind her shoulders, hoping to detour her desperate thrashing. Poliakoff merely looked on, with an odd sort of satisfied detachment on his face, which seemed to only enrage Hermione even more.

"_Answer me!" _

Viktor could only watch, helplessly, as she disappeared further down the corridor, the eerie silence of a sound ward descending upon the room. Viktor exhaled raggedly, biting his tongue bloody to choke back his own despair.

* * *

><p><strong>Translations:<strong>

_sŭpruga_ - wife

_moyat priyatel_ - my friend

**Author's Notes:**

It has been a LONG time. Sorry for the absence. I was well and truly blocked on this part of the story. I feel like I wrote myself into a corner, and it took forever to get myself out of it. Action is not my forte, and it took quite a bit to figure out how I wanted everything to climax. I wanted to get it right, and to make sure that I was happy with how things were unfolding rather than giving into the temptation of rushing through it. I'd envisioned how the rest of the story would unfold, but this particular bit was always a bit murky for me.

Also, thanks for the encouragement. Your reviews mean a lot to me, and I was definitely given a nice push from the kind words left by people who were discouraged by the lack of updates. _Thank you._ You don't know how much I appreciated it at the time.

Serge is a first name take from a Russian-born French modernist painter named Serge Poliakoff, and you can google image search to see his works. However, Poliakoff himself is actually a canon character, and I spent quite a bit of time trying to research him. A lot of the information we have on this character is actually pulled from behind the scenes press and movie featurettes. He's the "I vould like some wine" fellow in the book. According to the movie featurettes, he's actually Karkaroff's assistant, and I thought that it would only make sense to have Viktor ally himself with someone that had privileged access to the headmaster's offices and personal agenda. I really wanted to use a canon character, too, and Poliakoff was pretty much it. It made sense to they might have been family friends, as I imagine that the Bulgarian wizarding community must have been small enough for that to be a convenient possibility. The actor that portrays him in the film actually originally responded to a casting call to play Viktor, and the director was so impressed that he had the role of Karkaroff's aide written into the script to keep him on as an extra.

I have this vision of Poliakoff and Ivanka as star-crossed lovers, giving into the temptation to start a relationship but wanting to keep it a secret until Ivanka was of an age that they might seek parental approval… but Ivanka dies, leaving Poliakoff a bitter shell of a man. A more unhinged version of Snape, maybe, since Poliakoff's 'Lily' returned his affections. And, rather than seeing the dark lord and the war as the reason for her death, he hones in on Viktor's role in having placed her in danger. I'd actually argue that Viktor's family already had a target painted on their backs in the first place given that they had publically allied themselves against Grindelwald and by extension Voldemort, but that's something else entirely.

And yes, Hermione is particularly stunted when it comes to understanding wizarding culture and tradition, but to be fair, it's not entirely her fault. Most of the intricate ins and outs of wizarding culture don't seem to be written down in books in the series, and I doubt that she would have understood the boundaries and technicalities of an old-world betrothal pact other than perhaps a cursory knowledge that she showed with recognizing what bands mean in the first place (what better way to trap someone into marriage than to have tricky betrothal magic?).

I'd also be hesitant to embrace a culture that so soundly rejects me at a certain level, as an aside. That had to be frustrating for Hermione as a muggleborn. I imagine that wizarding culture is transmitted through families just like most any other culture, and wizards just aren't aware that people new to the culture simply don't know certain things. It just seemed like everyone expected Harry and Hermione to know everything, and yet no one was all, "Here's your introductory book to the wizarding world, telling you all about this weird ass alternate dimension you've just entered." That would be pretty counter-productive to the plot, I know, but still. That would be kind of awesome if JK actually wrote something like this. Seriously.


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